


You. Me. Us.

by quagmireisadora



Category: K-pop, SHINee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Cheating, Enemies, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Flashbacks, M/M, Married Life, NaNoWriMo 2020, Necropolitical Labour, POV Alternating, Porn Watching, Songfic, Top Kim Kibum | Key, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:00:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28659135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quagmireisadora/pseuds/quagmireisadora
Summary: It's not easy to miss Jinki. It's not easy to want to see him. It's not easy to think of his voice when he whispered, to remember his gaze when it lingered, to recall every soft brush of his head against Kibum's chest. The calm that came after his storm has drowned those memories to the bottom of Kibum's heart.It's not easy to miss Jinki and so. Kibum only misses the time they were alone in the world.
Relationships: Choi Minjung/Lee Jinki | Onew, Kim Kibum | Key/Lee Jinki | Onew
Kudos: 18
Collections: Summer of SHINee General Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is written for unclaimed prompt #223 from [Summer of SHINee 2020:](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Summer_of_SHINee_2020) “Jinki, an arrogant and successful CEO is secretly cheating on his wife with Kibum, his employee. One day, Kibum decides to stop it because he's starting to fall in love with Jinki and he's tired of being a third wheel.” Credit to the prompter.
> 
> Based on [this](https://youtu.be/O92yHB0MDZ8) song

Kibum isn’t looking ahead. He’s busy chatting on the phone when his foot accidentally jams against the wheel of the pram. Alarmed, he lets out an embarrassed sound and nearly starts apologizing to the baby in the stroller before looking up at the man pushing it.

“I am so sorr—”

The apology is never completed. His words are all dead, buried under six feet of shock and disbelief. The hand holding his phone remains suspended in the air, stunned into inaction. The person on the other line doesn’t realise they’re talking to the walls.

“Oh,” Jinki frowns. His hand is twitching on the stroller, as if wanting to rise in a wave but getting another signal from his brain to cancel that impulse. He’s not in a classy business suit or polished shoes. His unstyled hair is floppy and his unshaved face is covered by glasses. He looks nothing like himself, and yet he looks everything like the man he has always been. A husband, a father, the epitome of devotion.

“... oh,” Kibum hoarsely adds in agreement. It takes him a few seconds to stop staring before he wonders if he should just walk away. Maybe that’s the right thing to do here. Maybe he should bring the phone back to his ear, lower his head and continue like this accidental meeting never happened.

But it **did** happen. It is happening, right now, even as his brain stutters over what to do about it.

As he’s mapping his escape in the opposite direction, a tall woman is approaching them from a café. She's wearing a delicate floral top and beige shorts, hair cascading halfway down her back in chestnut waves. Her hand reaches for Jinki’s arm and gives it a squeeze. “Oppa?” she smiles, and it is the smile of an angel. It carries all the color and fragrance of spring. She’s the most beautiful woman Kibum has ever seen, and even though this is their first real meeting he already knows who she is.

“Did you meet a friend, oppa?”

Jinki is obviously still getting mixed commands from his confused brain. He gulps, visibly and audibly. His mouth is hanging a little slack. He doesn’t speak for a long series of seconds. But when he does, it sounds surprisingly calm and collected. “Baby, this is Kim Kibum,” he introduces. “He uhh... used to work for us. Until a few years ago.”

“Oh! Hello!” the woman— _Minjung_ , he remembers the name—smiles wider, offering a shallow bow to Kibum. “So funny you should meet at a place like this. Are you staying at the hotel?” she points to the far end of the beach.

“A-ah... yes.” Kibum manages. He doesn’t know what else to do. He doesn’t know what else to say. Within a matter of a few seconds he’s been reduced to a subhuman state. Slowly, his feet start to move backwards in an attempt to distance himself from the meeting. If he can get far enough away, he can probably run back the length of the walkway and clamber up the stairs to the eighth floor where his bags still sit unpacked.

Minjung is obviously as sweet and kind as he remembers. She won’t let him just leave like this. “Wah, such a lovely coincidence~” she smiles. “We’re in the last building down this way,” she motions behind her to the three tallest towers in the Busan skyline, like gigantic leaves with their tips swimming in the clouds. “Please, join us for dinner! Oppa rarely gets to socialise these days, he’s always so busy.”

Kibum begins to shake his head before his eyes catch Jinki’s. They share a long look, passing the same thought between them. _This is dangerous._ But they have no way to avoid an evening together without rousing the woman’s suspicion, and the last thing either of them wants is for her to get hurt.

With no choice left to him, Kibum accepts. “Th-thank you,” he nods, then remembers the phone in his hand and quickly mutters an _I'll call you back_ before following his hosts for the evening.

* * *

그때의 나, 그때의 우리  
참  
어리석고 어렸지

* * *

At first Jinki feels impatient. Then he feels insulted.

“Your dick is as useless as you then,” he spits on his palm, going back to stroking himself in case something changes. 

The man looks embarrassed. He looks the kind of embarrassed that lashes out with an angry punch or two. Kibum is that sort of guy—he knows how to fuck, and he knows how to fuck up. In fact, there’s enough evidence of his misdemeanours to build him into a dangerous criminal. Given the right amount of stirring and prodding, he could seriously hurt someone. But Jinki isn’t scared of that, his lawyer could render far more damage in response.

Still, an insult is an insult.

“You’re not helping,” Kibum growls from between grit teeth. They’ve been waiting for over half an hour and he’s still struggling to get it up. They’ve tried everything: Jinki’s stubby fingers, his thick lips, his clever tongue—even short bursts of a moaning video clip on Kibum’s phone when all else failed. It’s ridiculous. It’s like the guy dunked himself in a vat of booze beforehand.

Jinki makes an annoyed sound. “Fucking loser,” he mutters. He likes belittling the other, and he likes that the idiot can do virtually nothing to him in return. He likes that he has that ability, that his money affords him power like that. But sometimes money and power aren't enough. Sometimes Jinki's urges take the wheel and he needs to find other ways to satiate them.

He thinks to push the other away before beckoning him closer instead. “Come here,” he reaches for the guy’s neck.

Kibum recoils from the touch, swatting it away. “Suck your own dick, asshole.”

“Then what good are you?”

The fury that flashes on Kibum’s face is more satisfying to Jinki than any sex they could ever have. He looks ready to burst. If only his balls were too.

“Get out, then,” Jinki jerks his chin in the direction of the door. “And don’t bother showing up to work starting tomorrow—”

“For fuck's sake... OK, OK,” Kibum eventually relents, exchanging his limp length for Jinki’s pulsing turgid one. “Fucking hell.” It must be physical pain for someone with an ego as big as his to give in like that. Jinki relishes the victory more than the warm ring of lips closing around the head of his cock.

These visits are time-bound. The longer they spend here the more suspicion they’ll raise. Of course, he takes every precaution he can: he books the rooms himself, using a fake name and paying with cash. When he leaves the office, he tells his PA he’ll be meeting a potential client for dinner before heading home. Ordering the driver to a fancy restaurant, he walks around the grounds for a while pretending to be interested in property investment, then leaves out the back in a taxi.

But there’s only so much he can do. If someone with the faintest inkling of his private excursions were to go to the press, Jinki would have more than the KOSDAQ to worry about. A large portion of his success is ascribed to his image as a family man—his marketing team makes it a point to only ever circulate pictures of him posing with his proud parents or with his blushing wife. One wrong move on his part could destroy the carefully constructed image, leaving him and his company close to ruined.

It doesn’t matter how much money and power a man may earn, no one can control the whole world. Not even Lee Jinki.

When they’re done, he buttons up his shirt and fixes his tie. It may be late in the day, but he doesn’t leave anything to chance. He tends to stay clean and keep up appearances until he arrives home.

In the mirror, he notices the other sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. “Want me to get you in touch with a urologist or something?” he asks. “I know a really famous one on Teheran-ro—”

“Go fuck yourself,” Kibum barks.

“I might have to, if your equipment’s getting faulty,” Jinki smirks and receives a glare full of resentment and murderous intent. It doesn't faze him in the slightest. “Next time, bring your favorite video to beat off to.”

“There won’t be a next time.”

“You always say that. How many times has it been now? I’d be filthy rich if I made money every time you bullshit yourself.”

“I hate you,” Kibum looks up at him.

“Uh huh,” Jinki nods, tucking his shirt in. “Let’s hear you say that when you get your bonus this month,” he challenges. Shrugging on his coat and fixing his hair, he makes for the door. “Remember to go out through the other room,” he reminds, pointing to the door of the adjoining suite. “Oh, and uhh…”

Kibum raises his eyebrows at him.

“Take some flowers to your halmeoni for me,” he adds, leaving on a sincere note.

He takes off his face mask and sunglasses three lights away. The city is still alive, awake. He smiles at the stalled traffic around his taxi, leaning back in his seat and letting go of a happy sigh. The company stocks are soaring, the new contracts are underway well ahead of schedule, he’s just been given a very satisfying blowjob, and now it's time to go home to his beautiful wife. Everything is as it should be. Everything is perfect.

“Oppa, is that you?” Minjung calls out from the garden. She folds her laptop shut when Jinki comes into view and hugs her.

“You’re still working?” he asks, caressing her head. “You know you’re supposed to get as much rest as you can, right?”

She hums against his stomach. “There was a big meeting with foreign clients. You know how it gets around this time of year...”

“Yeah, but you can’t wear yourself out, it’s not good for you. Tell me—did you eat something?” he frowns at her when she doesn’t answer. “You can’t do that, Minjunggie. It’s really unhealthy. For both of you,” he lightly rebukes, nudging her back indoors. “Come on, dinner time. Let’s go.”

She pouts up at him. “I’m tired. Can’t we eat out here?”

He sighs, but bends in and gives her a long kiss. “It’s getting cold. Let’s go inside, hmm?”

He may not love anything else in the world, but she means everything to him. More than all his money and his power, more than his own life. She may not be the most beautiful or the most intelligent woman in the world, but in his eyes she is faultless. Nothing could ever make Jinki feel as proud or as accomplished as the fact that Minjung loves him too: so much in fact, that she readily accepts him every single day despite all his deficiencies and inadequacies. She’s more than a wife, more than the mother of their first child. She’s his everything.

“... and the second ultrasound is still scheduled for next month, OK?” she reminds him, walking slowly with their arms linked. “I put it in your calendar, so don’t forget.”

“Is that something I could forget?!” he balks.

Minjung giggles and leans into his side. “Mm, you still haven’t said if you think it’s a boy or a girl.”

Jinki hisses in thought, helping her onto a stool at the kitchen island. “Who knows... maybe a son? You **have** been eating a lot of sweet lately,” he nods.

“That’s an old wives’ tale!”

“OK,” Jinki claps his hands. “Let’s make a bet. What do you want if you win?”

“Hmm… a holiday?” Minjung pouts.

“Perfect. Let’s both pick a place—but don’t tell the other person!” he points, tying an apron around his waist. “And when our little one is old enough, we’ll go on our first family trip together. What do you say?”

“Oh…!” Minjung grins and claps with excitement. “I like this!”

* * *

_Take flowers to your halmeoni for me._ Kibum scoffs and spits out to a side, flicking ash from his cigarette as he moves from streetlight to winking streetlight. He should’ve broken that asshole’s jaw for talking like that. But that would’ve cost him. Dearly.

It’s not that he has some kind of weird masochistic complex for doing shit like this. He doesn’t secretly like being degraded or humiliated, no. But there’s clearly money in it. Lots of money. Enough to let him live the kind of life he wants to live. Fashionable clothes and shoes, a fancy car, nights spent in satin sheets as an amber sun sets behind the city skyline. He likes the idea of owning all that, of looking and feeling rich. Kibum loves things. And to fuel his love he’s willing to do anything, even if it means being a toy to scum like Lee fucking Jinki.

In the beginning, more money pours into his account every month than he can spend. The salary, the bonuses, the loose cash Jinki leaves for him sometimes. All his life Kibum has wanted to live it up but when he finally has the means to do do, he has no idea where to start. First, he moves into a better apartment than the filthy streets of his old neighbourhood. Then he begins refreshing his wardrobe, swapping out ratty sweatshirts and worn-out sneakers for fancy business suits and premium leather loafers. He changes his hair, changes his phone, changes the way he walks and talks. Even the rubbers and lube he buys before meeting with Jinki are the premium, foreign kind.

He manages to hold out for half a year. He withstands every provocation, ignores every dig at his expense. He even smiles through the thinly-veiled mockery from colleagues at work.

But then his grandmother’s illness strikes. The bills are high, the stress even worse. The money starts going straight home. Kibum daren’t spend a single won on himself. And when news of her getting worse arrives, he goes as far as selling some of his bags and sunglasses out of guilt. Starts flying home more and more often too, taking time off of work and ignoring all messages to meet in secret.

The day Jinki finds out why he’s being disobeyed, he follows Kibum to Daegu for the funeral.

 _Asshole_ , another spit to the side. Kibum nearly quit that day. He nearly hit the guy in front of his entire family, nearly spat at him too. The memory of his own snotty face during the service gives him fresh shame every time they meet. Jinki may not bring it up, but he has seen a part of Kibum that he wasn’t meant to see. He broke into a place that he was barred from and that has made his every action since, completely and utterly unforgivable.

Back in his lavish apartment, shared with no one but his own guilty conscience, Kibum wires more money home and ignores his mother’s text. They don’t need him to pay for anything, but he still does anyway. He thinks it’s his fault they couldn't save his grandmother, he thinks he didn't send home enough. So he repents with his paychecks.

Eating a quick meal and drinking a quick can of beer to wash it down, he throws out all the trash and retires to his bedroom for the night. There are other incomplete chores that wait for him, but he needs to do something far more important first. He needs to silence his roiling pride before it gets too loud for him to fall asleep.

A lazy search on his phone leads him to some foreign website that doesn’t ask him to pay. He can watch for free here. Settling among his pillows, he pulls the cover of his blanket over his head and scrolls through the list of videos. He searches for a while, his hand already down his shorts and his eyes starting to glaze over in drowsiness.

When he finds what he thinks will be enjoyable, he selects it and waits for it to play. Clicking at the initial advertisements, he shifts a little and prepares himself. Like a lot of foreign videos, this one too has a theatricality to it. It isn’t done with any finesse or skill, and the acting is a bit of a shitty turn-off. He tries to skip forward to the more important parts.

The sound of loud breathing and cracked moaning fills his headphones as he moves his hand on himself. The woman in the video has ridiculous proportions. Her make up is running and her comically red mouth is surrounded by sticky saliva. She whines in some foreign language he doesn’t recognize, but he can tell she’s begging. Her large breasts are jostled with every violent thrust from the expressionless man, and she pleads with him to—to something. Kibum doesn’t know. He allows his imagination to replace the words for him. But try as he might, he gets nothing. And when he changes over to a video with two men, he feels even more unaffected. A tired ring of fingers tugs and tugs until he’s feeling raw. Then he gives up with a weary groan.

Maybe he does need to see a doctor.

The visit home is short. Ever since his halmeoni’s passing, he tries not to stay too long. His parents are always glad to receive him, of course. His mother cooks a feast, and relatives or neighbours drop in to say hello. Some even bring photos of girls they know and think will be a perfect match for Kibum. But even if the idea of marriage doesn’t appeal to him, he doesn’t turn the proposals away. He diligently takes down the numbers and promises to call them for a date.

Of course, Jinki wouldn’t have any of that.

The last time Kibum had tried to see someone outside of their candid arrangement, Jinki had caught wind of it and hired someone to actively sabotage the date. No one had gotten hurt, of course, but the message was clear. Kibum isn’t allowed to see anyone else. He isn’t allowed to own his time like that.

“You should look for something else, Kibummie,” his mother advises when he tells her in vague terms how busy things are at the office. “You’ve been there for almost a year. Maybe a change is what you need?”

“Maybe,” he mutters. But Kibum doesn’t have much of a choice. He’s not smart. He has no special skills to boast of. Quitting will not be easy, looking for a different job will be even harder. He doesn’t want to sell himself anymore. He doesn’t want to be someone’s bitch anymore. But he knows that a man like him would have to start right at the bottom, so low in the food chain that Jinki can’t even think to look for him, much less reach him.

These thoughts still stew in his head two weeks later, when they’re alone in another posh hotel suite. Jinki is sitting on the edge of the plush bed as he loosens his tie and pulls open his cufflinks. “What,” he grouses, pointing his chin at Kibum’s crotch. “Still malfunctioning?”

“I… I want to try something else,” Kibum hesitates.

Jinki stares at him until his lips stretch into a smirk. “You turning into a freak now?”

“You want this or not?”

“Actually, last time I checked, you want this more than I do,” Jinki takes out his wallet and sets it on the side table to emphasise his words. “So? What’s it going to be? Gagging me? Tying me up?”

Kibum grits his teeth. “The day I tie you up is when I slit your throat and leave you here for your rats to find.”

Jinki lets out a low whistle. “That’s a new kink, even for you.”

“Don’t,” he’s warned.

“So what do you want?”

Kibum drinks a deep breath. “I… I need you to beg me.”

“ _What?_ ”

“I need you to beg me OK?” Kibum garbles his words, looking away when his face grows a burn. Here’s another thing he doesn’t want to give away, not to a man like Jinki. But he has no choice. If he wants to keep his job, he has no choice. “Beg me. T-to fuck you.”

Thick eyebrows rise high before returning. “Do I really need to tell you?” Jinki’s voice is low, much lower than its usual register. Shirt spilling off shoulders, hair mussed to invite, he leans back on his palms and traces his stare over Kibum. The light in his gaze is no longer playful. He’s serious. He isn’t joking around. This is really him talking with every bit of sincerity inside him.

“Do you not know—how much I want you?”

Kibum charges forward, forcefully gripping Jinki’s jaw. “How much?” he demands as his free hand tries to shrug his clothes off of himself. “Tell me how much.”

Jinki’s eyes are dark and clear of anything else but craving. His stubby fingers look red-tipped when they slowly unzip Kibum’s pants. His lips are flushed with color when he carefully draws his tongue over them. His breath is hot when it meets with Kibum’s skin, infecting him with a sudden blazing fever. “All the time,” he simply says, but it conveys far more than he puts into words.

It may be manipulative, but it’s enough to detain Kibum.

A thousand Kim Kibums are weighed for their worth every day, priced for their existence. He can’t rise above the scum that he is, it holds him back by the collar of his shirt. So he pushes down the urge to challenge the Lee Jinkis who own him. He keeps his head down and does as he’s told until an escape is close at hand.

* * *

“OK…” Jinki pants, nodding and trying to get away even as the idiot continues to grunt behind him. “OK, I’m done.”

“Just—one minute—”

“No,” Jinki frowns and pushes until the other slips out of him. He reaches for tissues to clean himself up, then turns around and glares at the bewildered man. “I said I’m done. That means you stop.”

“But I still haven’t—?!”

“Not my problem,” Jinki shakes his head. They’ve been in here for less than half an hour, which must be some kind of record. Usually it’s a full production with Kibum. He may fly into a rage at the drop of a hat, but when it comes to fucking, his prudence can be a libido-killer. He uses way too much lube and he stops far too many times to shift their positions. Sometimes he even breaks his rhythm if he thinks he’s being rough enough to injure. Outside the rare occasions that it all works out, Jinki has to finish by himself in the bathroom. And since tonight has been a good night, he’s going to use it to his advantage and make a run for it.

If he rushes through his shower he can probably be home in time for dinner, maybe even a movie. Minjung has recently been knitting a baby blanket in her free time. When they cuddle up on the sofa he likes to rest his head in her lap so the completed end of her work starts trailing over his face. It makes her break into silly giggles, which is always the highlight of his day.

“That’s not fair,” Kibum begins his dumb protest. His face is flooded with color and sweat, as is his dick. It’s a ridiculous sight, and Jinki wishes he had more time so he could savour it longer.

“That—you—I… I took a pill!” the moron insists. “I took a bloody pill for this, OK? So. You have to… you need to help me finish.”

Jinki shoots him and his hardness a look of open disgust. That explains why the idiot had been so eager to start today. That also explains why his member is pulsing angrily. _Viagra_ , Jinki bites down the urge to snort because he doesn’t want to get into a fist fight with the moron. Not now. But just the thought of a frenzied Kibum running here with a hard-on in his pants is enough to send Jinki into peals of laughter.

“Why the fuck did you go and do something stupid like that?”

Kibum looks positively outraged. “ **You** were the one who said to be ready beforehand! How else am I supposed to do that?!”

“Like I said,” Jinki shrugs as he makes his way to the bathroom. “Not my problem.”

“So what the fuck do I do now?!” the other yells after him.

Chuckling as the other loudly chews out curse after curse in satoori, Jinki cleans himself. A mortified Kibum is always a source of endless entertainment. The slightest affront turns him into a crazed bull with no regard for consequences. When he’s been wound up long enough, and he’s ready to tear into anything and anyone in his sights, it can bring Jinki unparalleled amusement.

There’s really nothing special about the guy. Jinki didn’t need to go through a long catalogue of choices before picking him to be a plaything. He has no ambition to rise in the company. In fact, he isn’t even motivated enough to stay employed in the first place. He’s a drifter, a pathetic footnote among society’s greatest failures. Sometimes Jinki wonders which lousy recruitment firm sent them Kibum’s CV in the first place—the idiot is terrible at following instructions, has proven himself wholly inept with computers, can’t write or edit for shit, and speaks only one language poorly. At team lunches, he spills his soup and makes a mess on his clothes. At company dinners, he drinks too much and often has to be stuffed into a taxi by disgruntled co-workers. If it didn’t bring Jinki some measure of enjoyment to see the guy fumble about every day as he fetched coffee or tidied the dusty archive rooms, Kibum would be long gone by now.

Outside of his capabilities at work—or lack thereof—he is neither attractive nor charming. He has beady eyes and thin lips and an unpleasant air about him, which is only somewhat diminished when Jinki fucks with his back facing the other. Kibum’s hands are too big and his legs are too hairy. He doesn’t understand grace or tact, and often says whatever is on his pea-sized mind. His voice is nasal and grating and can get extremely annoying to bear for too long. His dick passes for a dick when it’s functional, but it’s certainly nothing to write home about. Sure, his fashion sense seems to have improved by miles ever since Jinki began paying him for these secret appointments. But other than that, there’s nothing compelling about his appearance or personality. Kibum is as pedestrian as thousands of other salarymen like him. There’s no special reason why Jinki chose him.

As long as he feels worshipped, as long as others feel indebted to him, Jinki is satisfied.

When he steps out of the bathroom, Kibum is gone. He’s probably moping in the other suite. Jinki chuckles and approaches the connecting door. “Yah,” he calls out. “I’m leaving you some cash. Go to a hospital, they’ll help you get rid of a problem like that. Loser…” He shakes his head and starts dressing.

The door clicks open when he has one leg through his pants. “If you’re going to be like this, I’m not coming.”

“Yeah,” Jinki nods, eyes pointing at the other’s clothed crotch. “You aren’t.” He laughs at his own joke as he works a belt around himself.

“This isn’t funny,” Kibum warns. “I’m not some… common whore for you to—”

“Oh. You’re not?” Jinki feigns confusion, writing an invisible equation in the air with his fingers. “Hmm, let’s see. You… sell yourself to me. And I… pay you for it. Is that not what this is?” He scoffs. “You can call yourself whatever you like, it doesn't change the truth.”

Kibum’s expression grows grim. “You know why I do this. You were there. You know why.”

Jinki does know. But he hadn’t attended the funeral for leverage. It was a common courtesy, afforded to nearly all his employees. He’d simply done what he was expected to. His consolations and condolences had no gravity. They’d been empty words. If Kibum had broken down and gotten sloshed to the point of embarrassment, Jinki had played no part in it.

“Whatever,” he dismisses the idiot with a wave of some loose notes.

At home, he announces his arrival but is taken aback by the old woman at the kitchen sink. “Oh! Lee seobang,” his mother-in-law smiles in response to his shocked bow. “That’s right, you must be tired. You’ve worked hard! Go on and clean up, dinner should be ready soon.”

“Jangmo nim,” Jinki approaches. “You should’ve said you were visiting, I would’ve sent a car…”

“No need, no need,” she waves at him and turns the tap off. “I’d only planned to drop in on the two of you for a few hours but the girl was stubborn. Said she’s suddenly craving japchae, so here I am.” Rice noodles swim in her colander before sinking to the bottom. Jinki’s stomach sinks with them when the real reason why she’s here dawns on him.

“The ultrasound,” he covers his eyes and groans. While he was wasting his time with Kibum, he was missing what was really important to him. “Ah… how could I do this?”

Minjung’s mother chuckles and pats his arm. “It’s OK, these things can happen when you have a company to run,” she nods. “She’s not too upset. Go see her. She’s in the garden, as usual.”

Jinki hastens towards the sliding doors. He’s almost out when he’s addressed again.

“Lee seobang. Everything… is fine, isn’t it?” his mother-in-law inquires with a hint of apprehension.

“What could be wrong?” he frowns in a half-hearted assurance before dashing out.

Minjung lies sprawled on one of the poolside recliners. Her belly is starting to protrude so much now, he could almost mistake it for a small basket hidden under her clothes. Her breath is steady, her gaze is focused on the blue tiles of the pool. She seems calm on the outside, but with Minjung it’s never easy to tell what she’s thinking until he’s coaxed it out of her.

He approaches quietly, and when he’s close enough he kneels on the ground next to her chair and holds his earlobes. “How do you plan on punishing me, miss?” he murmurs.

She turns her face slowly. When she looks up at him she’s smiling. “You’re home,” she whispers, combing a hand through his hair. “I missed you.”

He leans in and kisses her. “I missed you,” he replies. It may not be entirely true, but he wants to assure her so he says it anyway. “After you put in a reminder on my phone and everything, too… how could I be so stupid and forget?”

“You can come to the last one,” she easily forgives. “Here, I brought you a photo,” she gives him a polaroid-sized picture of the sonogram. He makes out a round head, a soft chin, a tiny fist. A row of little white dots look like ribs, or maybe even a spine. And the small black dot she points to in the middle of the picture is the heart. “It was beating so fast!” she gushes, sniffling a little. “I could hear it too, on the machine, it was so fast… and the baby kept moving around so much!”

This is their child, he realises. This is what they made between the two of them. Something priceless and more perfect than anything he could ever create on his own. Regret and shame colors his face when he realises how neglectful he's been recently, and how Minjung has had to accommodate him like she always does. “Maybe we’ll have a girl who likes to swim,” he mutters against her knuckles. “Like you.”

“You think so?” she grins. He doesn't miss the tremble in her lips, the true face she keeps buried behind layers of warmth and affection. Jinki reminds himself that he must give this woman every happiness he can afford, even the ones he can't. As water seeps into the knees of his pants and the patter of rain pushes them back indoors, he leads her by the hand and decides in that moment that he will always put her above everything else.

* * *

그때의 우리  
아무것도 아닌 일에 다투던  
초라할 무렵에 기억

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Many years ago, a younger and stupider Kibum would’ve fawned at an apartment like this. The lights are dim, the furnishings are minimalist. There is original artwork hanging on the walls, the colors vibrant and the style modern. From his seat on the sofa he can see the stars glittering outside the ceiling-height windows, and when Minjung opens the sliders for a moment he hears the distant sound of crashing waves.

It’s the perfect home, fit for a perfect family: the baby tries to crawl on a furry carpet, and his sister waves a rattle to help it along. Their mother is fussing around the kitchen, carrying in plates and steaming dishes to arrange them on the table. Her husband is opening a bottle of wine and pouring out two glasses. Kibum watches them from his seat and is painfully aware of what an awkward eyesore he must look like in this blissful picture. Scrunching himself up in his place, he tries not to stick out so much.

“This is a lovely place,” he compliments weakly.

The girl is the only one who seems to hear him. She smiles, approaching him cautiously. “Hello,” she waves.

Kibum smiles back, holding his hand out for a shake. “Hello. Are you a princess?” he asks, pointing to the tiara on her head.

She giggles and takes his hand in her tiny one. “No~”

“Oh? But you look so clever and pretty! Hmm, I could’ve sworn… what’s your name?”

“Yasmin.”

“Hmm…” Kibum makes his best rendition of a comically suspicious face. “I don’t know… that’s a very princess-y name, you know? Are you sure you’re not hiding something from me?”

More giggles. “Ahjussi is funny.” Little Yasmin’s grin is missing two front teeth, and her dress is heavy with frills. Ponytails stick out from either side of her head, tied with soft pink ribbons. When she distractedly sings nursery rhymes, her voice is sweet. When she laughs at Kibum's silly expressions, she is adorable. She’s careful with her baby brother, obedient when her parents ask her to help set the table. And even though Jinki addresses her in a strict tone, when she looks up at him he melts into a doting mess.

Kibum immediately notices she has her father’s smile.

“We make sure to spend a few days here every summer,” Minjung finally responds to his comment after a while, motioning for him to join them at the table. “It’s too hot to play outside, and the kids get so restless being stuck at home. A little change is always good.”

“Yeah, I can imagine,” Kibum murmurs, walking over at a lazy pace.

“Do you still live in Seoul, Kibum ssi?”

“Ah… yes.”

“Oh! Whereabouts?”

“Ah… Sanggyedong,” he replies with some embarrassment. It takes him back to nights when Jinki would call him out to meet at the classiest hotels in the city, obviously wanting to drive home the unfathomable difference between them. That difference still exists: Jinki still has immense wealth, while Kibum has forsworn any dreams he once had of a life like that.

Minjung continues unfazed. “Oh! That’s not too far from us. You should come see us there too, whenever you have some time,” she smiles encouragingly, then speaks again after a pause. “And… do you live with someone?”

Kibum blinks between his two hosts. “I…”

“Yasmin ah,” Jinki interrupts. “Come on, now. You know we don’t play with toys when it’s dinner time.”

“OK~” the girl bounds over and slips into the empty chair next to Kibum. “Does ahjussi like lasagna?” she asks.

“Of course I do!” he crows. “How delicious is it?”

“It’s my favourite.” She swings her legs off the chair. After a moment she looks back up at Kibum. “But ahjusshi, how did you get a boo-boo like that?” she points at his eyebrow.

Surprised, Kibum touches the place. “Oh, this…”

“You shouldn’t be rude like that, Yasmin ah,” Minjung chides, serving them their meal.

“But it’s a sc—a scar,” the girl insists. “Appa said scars come from big boo-boos. Did ahjussi have a—a _axden_?”

“An accident?” he corrects, smiling fondly.

“Yasmin,” Jinki warns. “Finish your dinner quickly or there’s no ice cream later.” His eyes look heavy with mortification. Maybe he’s unearthing some long-buried memory. Maybe he’s thinking back to the times he’d drunkenly beg for Kibum to tell him things—secrets and skeletons he was never deserving of. Like the first time Kibum ever kissed someone, or the first time he crawled into someone’s bed, or the first time he realised he liked men. These were never things he was willing to share. Theirs hadn’t been a relationship he could’ve poured his all into. But even if Jinki had known this, he’d still pleaded. He’d still pulled at the buckle of Kibum’s pants and tried to pry these confessions from him with all his might.

* * *

밤  
또 늦은 밤에 거릴 거닐면  
그때의 추억이 선명하게 따라와

* * *

Someone pats powder on his face and someone else fixes a microphone to his tie. In the distance, a digital counter says they will be on air in thirty seconds. He clears his throat and adjusts himself on his seat.

“Don’t worry too much, Jinki ssi,” the host shoots him an assuring smile. “I’ll lead you through this.”

“Ah, yes. Thank you,” he gives a slight nod in her direction.

The camera is trained on them and a scroller flickers before coming into focus just below the lens. The newsreader thumbs through her script on the glossy counter, free hand massaging her jaw. She looks up when a silent voice speaks into her earpiece and affirms that _yes, she’s ready_. Soon the studio lights fade and the spotlights burn brighter.

“This is National News Daily and I am your host Jang Mieun,” the woman begins to the camera. “Our special guest tonight is someone who has held the attention of the entire nation for the past three weeks with his burning spirit and his gentle charm. Appearing for the first time on our show, this is someone we’ve been hoping to meet for a very long time. Please welcome Mr. Lee Jinki, CEO of Blue Bird Corporation. Jinki ssi, hello.”

“Thank you for such a kind introduction,” he replies with a bow and a smile.

“We have been trying to match schedules for a while, haven’t we?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Jinki agrees. “Thanks to your team’s efforts, I’m glad we’re finally meeting. Especially at such a significant moment in our history.”

“You seem to be referring to the recent launching of the Moksong 7129 space probe headed for Jupiter,” the newsreader prompts. She turns to the camera to address their viewers. “As most of us know, the probe has almost completed two rotations around the Earth. It is scheduled to accelerate out of orbit in the direction of our solar system’s gas giant, where we hope it will gather new information about Ganymede, one of its more hospitable moons.”

Returning her attention to her guest, she continues. “Jinki ssi, your company had a big hand in the successful launch of this project. Tell us more.”

“Of course, this isn’t the first time a Korean-made shuttle is breaching the atmosphere,” Jinki reasons. “Nor is it the first time that KARI has joined hands with a foreign association like NASA to embark on an ambitious project. People have said that Blue Bird was instrumental in bringing this relationship to fruition. I would clarify that we were simply a bridge between two goals, and by doing so, highlighted that a collaboration could be more advantageous.”

“But isn’t it true that your company was the first to provide a solution for, what we’re now calling the giant space slingshot?”

Jinki chuckles. “Orbital mechanics is not a new subject, but we’re still developing new theories for shorter travel durations without excessive use of fuel. As you know, theories can only be proven through experiments and. I’m grateful that we were able to participate in this one.”

The newsreader goes on. “Space travel and exploration is always considered something akin to futuristic. Would you agree that we have a long way to go?”

“Yes, absolutely. But I think it’s important to keep things in perspective,” Jinki explains. “Seventy years ago we were still rowing makeshift boats across the Han. Fifty years ago, we were still mastering the art of bridge building. Today we’re reaching for the stars,” he smiles. “Progress takes time, but we've moved in leaps and bounds. And I should stress: this wasn’t something I achieved single-handedly, we’ve come this far as a country. I for one am certainly proud of us.”

“Inspiring words from an inspiring man,” the woman smiles back. “And how was the working relationship with KARI, considering that you are an ex-employee?”

Jinki grants a polite laugh at this. “I commend you on your research,” he nods. “Yes, that’s right. When I left the aeronautics team there almost... seven years ago now, we separated on amicable terms. Back then, Korea was still importing critical shuttle parts, which put us at a serious disadvantage in terms of assigning funding for other aspects of the mission. Like research,” he gestures. “One can’t put a price tag on knowledge, but certain realities had to be faced,” he nods again. “Manufacturing locally is cheaper, but also produces a quality of product closer to what we want to achieve. So, despite the business risk, I was willing to try to fix the issue.”

“And seven years on here we are,” the reporter tilts her head. “Many people are amazed by the astounding heights Blue Bird has reached in such a short period of time. In your words, what would you say was your biggest inspiration?”

Jinki links his fingers together and pauses for effect. “My lovely wife, and the child she will soon bring into this world,” he flashes a soft smile at the camera. “We paint flags on the sides of shuttles, and we send them out into the great unknown hoping to find the meaning of life. But in the end, it doesn’t really matter what we find out there. It doesn’t matter how far we travel. This lonely blue planet is and always will be our home. The photos we take on our expeditions, the things we see when we circle around the Earth, year after year, remind us of that fact. And I hope that Blue Bird’s efforts, humble as they may be, continue reminding us of that.”

The newsreader shoots him an appreciative smile. “We certainly hope so too. The country is watching intently, Jinki ssi. Once again, thank you very much for being on our show, and we hope this isn’t the last time.”

They bow to each other before the woman relates a political news story.

In the green room, Jinki loosens his tie and falls into a chair with a sigh. Someone from the production team brings him a can of coffee. He accepts with a grateful smile, carelessly flinging it aside when he’s alone again. Once he’s sent Kibum a _where tf are you_ , and the idiot has read the message, his phone follows suit. He’d noticed the guy lurking behind a camera when they were live, but then he’d slunk off to mope somewhere after the broadcast. Usually, Jinki’s PA would’ve accompanied him to a press event like this. But she was busy and Kibum was never doing anything anyway, so he’d forced the moron to tag along.

Bored, he looks around the room for something to occupy him. Twenty minutes and a reluctant sip of the vending machine coffee later, the host of the show steps into his green room with a bow. “Thank you again for visiting us, Jinki ssi,” she says. He looks over and is about to return the greeting when he notices the expression on her face. She stands with her back to the closed door and a sparkle in her gaze. “… I wanted to say. I’m a big fan. I follow all the latest news about you. When the PD told me you were coming… I got really excited.”

He raises his eyebrows at the woman. “Sure,” is all he produces in response.

“I’ve… always wondered what it must be like,” she comes closer to his chair, walking around it. “To know such an ambitious man.” Her fingertips brush across his shoulders, sliding down an arm and giving his bicep a light squeeze. “I’ve always wondered if all that power… goes to a man's head,” her hand trails down his thigh to his knee before the touch moves off. The words would make his hair stand on end, but he immediately recognises this for what it is.

“Surely the news cycle isn’t so dry that you have to create your own scandals?” he mutters.

She is about to touch him again but retracts her hand when he speaks, folding her arms defensively. “Sounds like you’re used to blackmail?” Her tone is completely different from mere moments ago. She looks down at him with challenge in her gaze. “My research team can look into much more than professional backgrounds, you know? I’m curious what they’d find out.” The woman smirks. “The places you visit at night, the things you do in those places… a charming man like you can keep a few mistresses, right?”

He lets out a short chuckle. “You’re right. I have been blackmailed before,” he nods. “I also know what you were doing just now is predatory behaviour. If we bring lawyers into this, it’s going to get very messy for your people. Of course, harassment cases don't usually amount to anything,” he shrugs nonchalantly, then squints up at her as he casually swings his chair side-to-side. “But tell me: who do you think the people of this country are more likely to believe? A man who put a shuttle in space, or a woman who reads the news at ten?”

The other’s eyes flash dangerously. She opens her mouth to possibly dish out an insult in return when the door opens. In walks Kibum with a bored look on his face.

Noticing the tense air, he turns from one person to the other and frowns. “What?”

“Time to go, that’s what,” Jinki tells him. “Get our things. Mieun ssi, thank you for the lunch invite but we have a meeting to get to,” he speaks tersely. “Have a nice day.”

Her heels clack against the floor as she storms out of the room.

“Someone’s in a mood… you come on to her or someth—?” Kibum begins but doesn’t continue. Jinki reaches over and holds him by the shoulders. He hangs off the man; closes his eyes and breathes steadily, trying to forget the horrible sensation of someone’s unwanted touch, trying to anchor himself to the other.

“Y-you OK?”

Jinki neither nods nor shakes his head. He studies their shoes, studies the concrete floor and speckled carpet. He studies the way Kibum’s feet are nearly touching his own. He takes note of every insignificant thing he can until his head starts untangling and he can think straight again.

A soft palm wraps around the back of his neck and tightens its clasp. If the action is meant to be comforting… it is. Jinki rests the crown of his head against Kibum’s chest. More distractions gradually filter into him: the temperature of Kibum’s skin, the smell of nicotine hanging off his shirt, the wet sound of his mouth opening and shutting as if trying to form a question but somehow restraining the words. Jinki accepts all of it for the few minutes they stand still.

Then he picks up his coat and wordlessly walks out of the room.

* * *

If Kibum is a dowel, then everyone else in the office must be a mallet aiming for his head. He sinks lower and lower with every word directed at him.

“Can’t you do anything right?” his division chief stands next to his table with hands on his waist and demands on his tone. So far, these rebukes were shelled out in the privacy of meeting rooms. Now it’s all in the open. Now a hand slams against his desk and rattles everything on it. “I asked you if there’s anything you can do right! Answer me!”

He only bows again. “Sorry,” he mutters with indifference.

“Forget it. Yah,” the chief brushes him aside and addresses the rest of the cubicles in their section. He doesn’t need to raise his voice any higher, the entire office has been listening in for the last ten minutes of this tirade. “Yah!” he still yells. “Which one of you gave this idiot work to do? Eh? Did I or did I not say he wasn’t going to handle any important files ever? Did I or did I not say that?!”

“Gwajang nim, there’s so much pending work to do, and I thought—”

“You thought,” the chief interrupts. “You **thought** , that was the problem. Don’t think. Please stop thinking because it’s going to lead this company into ruin!” he shouts. “Next time, just do as I say!” There’s nothing but silence following his rant so he throws something else against the ground before stalking back to Kibum. “And you,” he hisses. “I don’t know whose dick you had to suck to keep this job, but I’m going to make sure I have you fired by the end of the day. You hear me?! I’m going to make sure—!”

Kibum plucks his blazer from the back of his chair and puts it on. “Please do that, sir,” he responds and makes his way to the elevators.

“The nerve of this asshole…!” the chief chews. “You punk! Where do you think you’re going?!”

“To the rooftop, sir,” Kibum calls as the lift dings to a stop for him. There’s a resounding silence on the floor at his proclamation. Just before the doors slide shut he catches the division chief order someone to follow and make sure Kibum doesn’t do anything that could damage the company’s reputation.

He looks down thirty storeys at traffic and pedestrians and life. Other people’s life. Would it be easy to notice him in that crowd? Would he stand out? Or would he immediately meld into the mass and be forgotten? In college Kibum had always wanted to shine. He’d always tried to do things to be noticed, to be the centre of attention. And for a time his strategies had worked. People laughed at his dumb jokes and looked forward to his reactions and hung off of his words. The parties he threw made him popular. The wardrobe he built made him fashionable, cool. But with time the allure wore off. He slowly reverted to being just another penniless, overworked student with questionable prospects. He slowly became one of the others. And it had made him feel so worthless, so unremarkable, that he’d eventually quit.

But life is more complicated and more degrading than a bid for popularity among his peers. Life isn’t so easy to quit.

“Three seconds is a long time,” a voice calls out from behind him, stirring him out of his thoughts.

“What?” he scowls at the stranger.

The other man approaches, slowly and with a sign of caution in his gait. “Considering the height we’re at, and the air resistance to someone with your weight…” he nods. “It’d take something around three seconds for you to fall. Doesn’t seem like much, but that’s a really long time you know?” he blinks. “You could change your mind before you’re even halfway down.”

Kibum makes an exasperated sound in his throat. “I’m not going to jump.”

The man pauses, then continues moving closer. “Good,” he eventually says. “Yun gwajang isn’t really worth it, either,” he shakes his head.

They share a look before Kibum snorts at the man, who chuckles in response. He’s short and shy and he keeps fiddling with the blue lanyard around his neck. _Kim Jonghyun_ , the ID reads. Kibum hasn’t seen the guy before so he must be new.

“They sent you to talk me out of it, then?”

“More to avoid a lawsuit, actually. But yeah…” the other nods. “Looks like I’ve been successful.”

“I told you, I’m not going to jump.”

“Yeah,” Jonghyun agrees. “And you have me to thank for it, right? Feel free to tell my boss to consider that on my next performance review, would you?”

Kibum lets out a bark of a laugh. It fights its way out of him, slithering up from his gut and escaping his lips before he could soften it or rein it in. It feels strange, it feels like it’s been years since he was so… carefree. For a long time he’d assumed that living in wealth and earning a paycheck would solve all his problems, but that obviously isn’t true. Landing this job was the worst thing to happen to him. On better days, he’s tried convincing himself that it isn’t so bad. That he’s just overreacting like he always does at the slightest inconvenience. So what if there hasn’t been a bonus check in his mail for the past three months? So what if he hasn’t been called to meet in all that time, not once? There’s still the chance that it could happen. Jinki had looked stressed at the media event. He’s probably just been busy with his wife finally giving birth and everything. There’ll be a text any time now.

But he can see the truth from a long way away. His days of living in comfort are numbered.

“I understand how you feel,” the other man seems to read his thoughts. “Working with people who don’t respect anyone else. It can be… quite hopeless sometimes. But this company isn’t the be all and end all, you know? This city isn’t so unforgiving once you get to know it.”

“You must be from here,” Kibum jokes. “You’ve got Seoul sickness.”

“Maybe so,” Jonghyun shrugs. He stays quiet for a long series of minutes after that. But when he does speak up again, his voice is so kind it shocks Kibum. He has forgotten that another human being could be capable of such a sentiment.

“Things will change,” the man assures. “Things always change. And I admit I can’t know the future, but... I work in statistics, see?” he smiles. “And I’d say numbers generally turn into positive figures after a big nosedive. So… believe in math.”

“And what if the nosedive hasn’t ended?”

“Hmm…” Jonghyun nods thoughtfully. “Then we fix it. You came to the right guy,” he holds out his hand for a shake and an introduction. 

Kibum allows himself another chuckle as he puts out his cigarette. “I’ll leave it to you,” he accepts.

“Then… if you’ll please step away from the parapet,” Jonghyun makes a polite motion, earning himself another guffaw.

They ride the elevator down to the cafe, where they eat lunch together. Kibum doesn’t feel the need to draw attention or stand out. He doesn’t feel pressed to be funny or interesting or cool. He listens when Jonghyun talks, and the favor is returned when it’s his own turn to speak. This must be the first normal conversation he has had with someone else, he thinks. This must be the first real friend he may have earned, all on his own. And the interaction gives him some hope: that maybe Jonghyun is right. Things can change. **He** can change. He can still learn and grow and become someone he isn’t ashamed of being. Maybe he’ll take up a language course after work. Maybe he’ll start dating again. Maybe he’ll look for a different job in earnest. Maybe this city isn't as bad after all.

That night in bed, he doesn’t think of Jinki or the text that never arrives. He doesn’t seek out the numbing comfort of a dirty video clip. He doesn’t think of his grandmother or his parents or of the life he left behind in Daegu. Kibum falls into a deep and peaceful sleep, empty of coiling thoughts and unafraid of facing his nightmares.

* * *

One night, there is a long stillness in the air after they’re done.

Now that they’ve stopped moving Jinki breathes hard, his back eventually beginning to hurt. He’s draped over the foot of the bed, hanging upside-down as a thin line of cum dribbles down from crotch to neck. He reaches his hand out until he’s pulled to sit upright.

Kibum doesn’t look in any better shape. His face is flooded with color and chagrin. Earlier in the evening when he didn't answer the text, it had seemed like he wasn't going to show up. _That could never happen,_ Jinki had convinced himself. He was proven right, of course. But now that they're done, something in his stomach doesn't sit right about any of this. 

“It slipped?” he wipes under his nose, noting a torn wad of rubber on the mattress between them.

The back of a neck is scratched in answer.

“How am I supposed to get that stuff out of me now?”

“How should I know?!”

“That’s right,” Jinki grumbles. “You know next to nothing. Fucking piece of shit…”

After spending the entirety of their daughter's hundred day celebration with guests and relatives, Minjung is going on maternity leave at the end of the week, returning to her family home in Incheon. When she's gone, Jinki will be left alone in a big house that he built for three. He will be alone and there will be nothing to keep him sane. Because yes, he thinks he's going to lose his mind without her.

He's willing to admit that after six months of distance, reaching out to Kibum was an act of desperation that he now wishes he hadn't gone through with. Like before, they meet when and where Jinki feels like it. They don’t talk to each other at work. They don’t even look in the other’s direction when they’re surrounded by their colleagues. A text is sent to a special number on a special phone, which he's surprised Kibum still keeps charged, so they can fix a time and place. Like before, there isn’t much of an exchange on the subject. Jinki dictates the terms and the idiot simply shows up, no questions asked.

But in addition to his regret, this is a new problem. He doesn’t like having any traces of their meeting on his body, and this is more than just a trace. Minjung will notice this on his clothes tomorrow. She will ask him about it. And then she’ll ask him about other things. No, this won’t go away on its own.

“Next time, wear two,” he taunts before stalking to the bathroom.

“There won’t be a next time, asshole.”

“This shit again…”

“I mean it!”

Scrunching his nose, Jinki stands under the shower, reaching around himself to feel a sticky mass squelch under his touch. “Disgusting…” he mutters. It takes him a while to clean up, and by the time he’s out again he’s late for dinner. Kibum is already fully clothed and doing whatever he does on his phone.

“Get out,” Jinki barks at him.

“I have the suite for the night,” the other reasons.

“So go to your own side of the room,” he’s told in deliberate and angry speech.

Kibum glares back at him for several long minutes, then his face relaxes and he puts his phone away. “What if I told someone?” he mumbles his pathetic attempt at a threat. “What if I went to the press and told everyone what you ask me to do? I have plenty of evidence, you know?”

“Don’t care—” Jinki dismisses. When he is attacked, his first instinct is to belittle the other person. “Who’s going to believe a worthless shithead like you anyway? And what’re you going to say? That I bought you for a few thousand won? Because that’s how cheap you are.”

Kibum nods slowly. “You don’t care…” he mumbles, then looks at Jinki again. This time, his gaze spells more trouble than he’s worth. “Does your wife care?”

Jinki launches himself at the man’s neck. “You so much as look at her with your filthy eyes, I will pluck them out of your head and stuff them down your throat. You hear me?” he threatens, but there isn’t really any threat in his words. They’re fact. This isn't his anxiety talking. He really will end Kibum if he thinks about hurting Minjung in any way.

The guy chuckles. “I don’t believe it,” he shakes his head and pushes Jinki’s hands off of himself. Thick bands of fingerprints line his throat. He coughs and gingerly touches them before wiping sweaty hair off his forehead. “The great Lee Jinki actually cares about something. Un-fucking-believable,” he shakes his head. “You mean to say you don’t care if I tell the world, but you’ll destroy me if I talk to your wife? Don’t make me laugh.”

“Don’t make me kill you,” Jinki glowers, then searches for his shirt. “And don’t get ahead of yourself. You’re just entertainment for me, OK? I use you, I pay you, and you keep your mouth shut. That’s it.”

“Not everything can be bought,” Kibum counters.

“You seem to have grown some balls recently, haven’t you?” Jinki scoffs at him. “ **Everything** can be bought. Everything has a price. I have that kind of money, and you,” he gives the man a degrading once-over. “People like you live to be bought. You exist by being on sale. That’s how the world works. Get over it.”

The other patiently listens to his tirade. “And if I don’t care either?” he asks after a while, when Jinki is fastening his shoelaces. “What if I don’t care if you killed me?”

He doesn’t answer that. He doesn’t have any more time to give to their interaction, or whatever the hell Kibum thinks this garbage is. He leaves without a second glance in the other’s direction. It is long past the time he’d said he would be home and he knows how Minjung worries about him.

Racing to get out of the hotel and into a taxi, he dials her number. When he gets her voice-mail, he leaves her a loving message and an excuse about being stuck on a conference call with an American client. She’ll forgive him.

Later, when he’s lying in bed with his arm draped over Minjung’s waist, he suddenly feels a shudder go down his spine. _What if I don’t care either?_ Kibum’s words belatedly strike fear into his heart and he gets up, leaving the blankets to slink down the stairs, heading for the living room.

He fumbles around in the dark, knocking his knees and toes on things until he finds his phone. There isn’t any reason for him to show his concern. There isn’t any reason for him to act considerate to someone as pointless as Kibum and his pathetic bouts of drama. But anything he does tonight will indubitably lead back to Jinki. That’s how their arrangement works: Jinki leaves and then Kibum stays on for a few more hours. He can’t go unless he’s ordered to, he can’t stay unless he’s commanded. Or there will be no money transferred to his account. That is the trap Jinki has built for him, and now he feels a little pang of regret at that.

The number is accurately listed under _fucking idiot_ , but he often considers changing it to something that won’t rouse anyone’s suspicion. His thumbs waver over the letters for a while until he hurriedly types out a “you better not do anything stupid.”

Satisfied with his message, he creeps back into bed.

“Mm, oppa is so restless tonight,” Minjung groans, pulling his arm tighter around herself. “Stressful day?”

“Hmm,” he hums, his thoughts still idling somewhere far away. Kibum hasn’t been his usual pain in the ass self lately. He’s been showing up to work on time, he’s been proactive about the small tasks he’s assigned. He even seems to be getting along with a few guys from value engineering. He isn’t as brash or careless or annoying as he used to be only months ago. Maybe someone finally intervened and set him straight. Maybe he’s cleaning up his act at long last, as miraculous as that may be.

There’s something about it that rubs Jinki the wrong way.

“I’m home now,” he kisses the side of Minjung’s head. “I’m home, baby. Go to sleep.”

“Mm... take the day off tomorrow?” there’s a hint of a smile in Minjung’s voice. “Spend it with me and Yasmin.”

Jinki nuzzles into her neck. “Anything you want, baby,” he whispers.

* * *

네가  
그립거나 보고프거나  
그런 쉬운 감정이 아니야

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

Yasmin wolfs down her food within minutes and then runs off to her toys again.

“She’s very cute,” Kibum compliments after her.

“Oh, they’re always cute until they start walking and talking and...” Minjung shakes her head in amusement, the remainder of her complaint left unspoken. “Please eat lots,” she offers him another glass of wine. “I need to go feed the baby, but be sure to take seconds, Kibum ssi.”

“Ah, thank you,” he rises a little as she leaves the room, then settles into his chair again with a heavy sigh.

Alone and separated by the length of a silent table, Jinki pretends Kibum doesn’t exist. He spoons more salad onto his plate, spills more wine out of his glass, leaks more sauce from his fourth serving of lasagna. _Always the same_ , Kibum thinks, his own dinner barely touched. _Always demanding control without knowing what to do with it._ It’s as if time hasn’t advanced for Jinki since their first meeting. His watch remains stuck in that moment, unwilling to move on even if Kibum has. Even if the rest of the world has.

“What’re you doing here, then?” he suddenly speaks up between mouthfuls.

“Conference,” Kibum mutters back. They sound like they’ve been fighting for days, and these words are their first attempt at a truce. He could add more body to his response but he reminds himself it’s not necessary to give up anything beyond a few meaningless utterances. He no longer needs to relinquish his privacy for some loose cash.

“Still an office admin?”

“No,” Kibum shakes his head. “No. I was never cut out for offices.”

“Yeah,” Jinki scoffs, and suddenly he’s no longer the loving husband or the caring father. Suddenly the mask is off and he is his familiar glacial self. “You weren’t.”

Yasmin breaks up their fledgeling conversation by dancing into view, singing a song and waving lengths of shimmering party decorations. Jinki calls her over and wipes chocolate from her mouth before planting a kiss on her forehead. With a grin, she offers Kibum a tiny plastic toy and resumes her little performance.

“Got kids of your own?” the questioning continues as they watch her.

Kibum gives another silent shake of the head.

“Married? Or still…?” Jinki lets the rest of the sentence go. If he means for his words to be insulting, it’s a childish and feeble attempt. He just sounds like a sore loser.

Deciding not to answer, Kibum avoids his gaze. It doesn’t escape him that Jinki is trying to assume power over him, as he was always prone to do: he’d commandeer every conversation to place himself in a position of unquestionable supremacy, crippling Kibum’s pride until only shame remained. Every exchange was a confiscation of Kibum’s dignity, a seizure of his self-respect.

Nothing has changed in their five years apart.

Minjung returns after a while, saving him from the rest of the inquisition. She sighs. “They’re both the hungriest children you’ll ever come across,” she shakes her head.

“Must get that from their father,” Kibum replies without thinking.

“Aha! So you know all about his wild appetite then?!” Minjung looks gleeful, moving her chair closer. “I remember he once ate thirty plates of sushi, then still complained about it not being enough. In fact! I’m sure he gained more weight when I was pregnant this time around—”

“That’s cause you’d ask to eat something then not eat it,” Jinki protests with an uncharacteristic pout. Minjung laughs, smacking his arm. Even in that short and inconsequential exchange, they look made for each other. And Kibum is once again left to wonder what the hell he’s doing here.

“Tell me,” Minjung prompts him. “Do you have any funny stories from when you were working together?”

Kibum raises his eyebrows at Jinki, whose face shows a small hint of panic. “We were…” he begins, but there is no way to continue that sentence without speaking the truth. He tries again. “I was just a contractor. We never worked closely on anything.”

“Ah… but you remember each other so well,” Minjung blinks, then smiles warmly. “You must’ve left a strong impression on each other.”

Kibum gives her a pursed smile.

* * *

달  
밝은 날에 하늘을 보면  
우리 상처들이 떠 있고

* * *

Jinki involuntarily makes a strange sound in his throat. Kibum shifts his weight behind him before rutting once again.

His leg is raised up onto a cold marble counter, and his hand steams against an equally chilled mirror. They’re standing in the luxurious bathroom of their shared suite at the Four Seasons, where no more joint suits were available. An impatient Jinki made the booking anyway. Now he watches as the man behind him squeezes his ass and prods far too carefully to satisfy either of them.

“Harder,” he orders.

“I won’t hurt you,” Kibum hushes but there’s a marked increase in force when he moves again.

“How considerate,” Jinki speaks through grit teeth. “Stop, this isn’t working.” He balances himself on the counter and spreads his legs farther apart. “Try agai— _ahh~_!” his sentence is cut short when Kibum’s hips burrow deep into him. Jinki chants swears under his breath. The place where they join is heated and pulsing and so heavy it’s a little ridiculous. Steam grows thicker on the mirror. Every passing second becomes a game to see if they’ll last long enough for their reflections to be completely obscured.

Kibum weaves then pistons then rams until his motions grow too fervid. Jinki has to stop him. “Go easy, you sick bastard, I’m not one of your sex dolls.”

“Shut up,” the other grates and continues at the same pace.

“What, did I hit a nerve?” Jinki teases.

“Yeah.” The other presses himself closer, deeper, bears down unrelentingly hard. “Now let me hit yours,” he hisses.

Jinki gasps and bites into his lips to suppress a whine, fingers blindly swiping over their sweat-soaked reflections. They stop for a moment, equally shocked. Hours later, he thinks something unnamed must’ve passed between them in that pause because Kibum is no longer Kibum and Jinki is no longer Jinki. It only lasts a moment, only a short breath’s worth. And then one is quickly bent over in half, palms slipping on the mirror while the other’s movements get more and more urgent. A rough grip digs into Jinki’s sides, sharp hipbones slap against Jinki’s rear. Kibum’s hair flops messily over his forehead and eyes, voice breaking out between rough exhales to let go of a breathy curse. Everything about him is suddenly so crazed, so frenzied. Everything in him is chasing release.

“You selfish piece of—” Jinki starts to say in a jostled voice when he’s pulled upright by his neck. He scrambles to hold on to something but it’s like Kibum is lifting him into the air; lifting him away from the ground, away from anything real. Long fingers reach around to take hold of his dripping arousal. His own hands fumble for purchase on the other’s slick body. The frenzy immediately simmers into a slow unbearable undulation that electrifies every cell in Jinki’s body. He feels himself heat, feels his breath burn in every exhale.

The thumb on the head of his cock, the teeth on the shell of his ear, the hardness pressing down on his senses… he doesn’t know what’s happening. He hasn’t done anything like this before. He’s not in control, he has no power anymore. It’s confusing and disorienting and salty and satisfying all at the same time. He wants to make his usual demands—faster, harder, _harder, you stupid fuck_ because why else would he pay for this? But every slow meeting of their hips silences him. Every rumbling moan shames him. Every drop of condensation rolling down the mirror witnesses how he is trapped in the prison of Kibum’s arms. And he does not struggle to get out. He remains, reduced to a few wordless crackling whimpers.

When they finish, they finish together. It's unprecedented, but the momentousness is lost on Jinki. He pants at their reflections, watching Kibum as he is watched in return. The lean arms are slow to grow slack. The wilting hardness takes time to pull out and move away. A black stare stays unmoving on the side of Jinki’s face, rooted in place. Kibum is searching for something. He is looking, for a possession lost to many years of a despondent life. But it’s hard to say what he finds, or if he even finds anything. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking of and Jinki has barely any breath or strength left in him to stay upright, much less launch an investigation. He falls forward, bent over the marble sink again, waiting for his body to stop shaking.

At the bathroom door Kibum turns around for one last look. His mouth is quiet, his eyes are sad. The stretch of his naked back is like a lonely sea. Jinki is reminded of a night spent on a windy hill, the cliffs desolate, the stars piercing, the waves unimaginably deep. He is reminded of a watery desert that has no end in sight. It makes him flinch and look away.

When he’s dressed and preparing to leave, he considers the lump of blankets curled in bed and thinks to say something. Something that wouldn’t breach the limits he himself put in place. But he can’t come up with anything fitting before someone is calling him. It’s Minjung.

He lets the call drop, but he doesn’t stay for a minute longer than he needs to.

“Hi, love,” he says hours later to the screen resting on the kitchen window, where Minjung is waving at him. The camera adjusts and then baby Yasmin is in the frame. She coos and swishes her arms back and forth, squealing at some unseen thing. “Ohhh, who’s this beautiful princess?” Jinki chuckles as he stirs his pot of ramyun.

“Say hello to appa!” Minjung points at the screen. “Come on, say hello! Poor girl’s already started teething, so it can get really noisy here,” she says to Jinki. “I’m glad we aren’t around to disturb you, you’re so stressed as it is…”

“Disturb, she says... she’s my daughter too, you know?” he reasons. “Anyway. I feel bad for your parents. You should come back soon, or they’ll get sick of seeing you,” he jokes, hoping his desperation isn’t as apparent in his tone.

“Hmm, Minseok oppa’s visiting from Australia. The whole family’s back together, after all these years, so… I should probably stay as long as he does,” Minjung nods. “Oppa… are you eating well? You look so tired,” she tilts her head.

“Well, I was going to cook steak for a special date tonight but, you know. She cancelled,” Jinki explains, then giggles when Minjung makes a ridiculing noise.

“So silly,” she shakes her head. “I miss you, oppa,” she says after a beat. “We both do.”

“So come home,” he implores, picking up the device and walking to a seat. “Please. I can take more time off from work. I can… I can do night shifts so Yasmin has someone looking after her all the time. We’ll make it work, just,” he realises he sounds childish but this is Minjung. This is his wife. He doesn’t need to keep anything from her.

On the other side of the call, Minjung looks around herself like she isn’t alone in the room. Jinki’s suspicion is confirmed when someone takes Yasmin from her arms, inducing a wail from the girl. Minjung walks a few feet away from her position until she is seemingly alone in a different room.

“Oppa,” she starts. Her voice is so sweet and filled with love, Jinki wishes he’d never let her leave in the first place. “What’s wrong?”

Jinki wants to tell her he can’t do this. He wants to show her the quiet and darkened house, insisting he can’t live like this. He wants to tell her how he misses her flowery smell, how he misses the feeling of her soft hair between his fingers. He wants to detail the pain that blooms in his chest every morning he finds half the bed empty. He wants to show her how much time he spends tidying around the crib he painted, or the mobile she strung together, or the little toys that sit unused in their bedroom. He wants to hold her and kiss her and sway with her to all her favorite songs. He wants her back home.

But she doesn’t belong to him. He understands that she is also a daughter and a sister and a friend, not just a wife and mother. She has a life of her own; always had and always will.

“We never talked about that holiday,” he says instead. “You won the bet, right? Where did you want to go?”

Minjung smiles wide at that. “Can I keep that a secret for a little while longer?” she asks. “It’s a special place. Somewhere I’ve wanted to go for a long time. Just the two of us.”

He raises his eyebrows in question. “Not with Yasmin?”

“Mm,” Minjung shakes her head. “Just me and oppa. How does that sound?”

“Like a second honeymoon, that’s how,” he jokes.

Minjung hushes him before pressing her lips to the camera. “I miss you all the time,” she repeats quietly. This time her voice runs a thrill through his body. He can’t stop himself from thinking of the way Kibum’s lips folded over his ear, or the way his skin felt so warm and wet against Jinki’s own.

He grits his teeth and stifles the memory until it is replaced by a thousand others—the way Minjung feels, the way she tastes, the way she sounds. He thinks of all the nights he has held her tight and listened to her breath speed in time with his. “I miss you more,” he sighs in return. “Come home, baby.”

She nods. “I’ll be there soon. Promise.”

* * *

The Jupiter probe is only half-way to its mark. The fact that it’s still transmitting data and sticking to its intended destination isn’t enough cause for a celebration. But the attention it has garnered is invaluable. Blue Bird has now been approached by three foreign nations and their space agencies, all offering obscene amounts of money to help them launch their own projects. Upper management has been thrumming with excitement for a week, even talking about the possibility of manned shuttles.

Kibum stands by the bar and holds out a glass of champagne to an approaching Jonghyun.

“Fun party, huh?” he’s asked. He doesn’t feel the need to answer, but he would certainly not call this his idea of fun.

Jinki has already delivered two short speeches to raucous applause. As they sip from their flutes and watch the stage, a third seems forthcoming. The man appears to grow more and more drunk with each oration. Sometimes he slurs around his pronunciations, sometimes he looks like he’s about to trip on the stairs leading up to the podium. At one point he even sounds close to tears, quickly recovering by initiating a chant that is taken up unquestioningly by the rest of the gathering.

Distaste swills in Kibum’s mouth. “Let’s get some air,” he suggests.

Jonghyun smiles and follows gratefully.

The night is cool, but winter is on its way out. Black masses of foliage rustle in the wind while the two of them stroll along a paved path. “I hate office parties,” Kibum mutters. As if on cue, uproarious laughter goes up in the hall behind them.

Jonghyun chuckles at the coincidence. “Me too,” he agrees. “But... it’s important to pretend sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Kibum sighs when they arrive at a small man-made stream, taking a seat on a large boulder. “But how long is it right to pretend?” he asks over the sound of trickling water. “How long can someone go until they realise that… pretending is just a way to avoid facing something?”

The other watches him through the dark. “What’s on your mind?” he asks quietly.

Kibum chuckles and shakes his head, then rubs his face tiredly. _Lots of things_ , he wants to say. There is so much on his mind it grows heavy with each waking moment. Jinki has cracked him open. He has unraveled and unspooled all that Kibum held together with the last semblance of his dignity, leaving behind a confusing unsightly mess.

He’d tried gathering his courage to break free. He’d tried to grow a spine and refuse Jinki. He can honestly say he’d tried—still continues to try with all his remaining fortitude. But every time he takes a step towards his freedom he has to stop. He has to turn around and look at what he’s walking away from. And when he finds his parents waving back, suddenly so old and frail, he surrenders to his own wretched life. He can’t leave. He can never walk away.

When they’re silent for a long time, Jonghyun lets go of a long breath. “Kibum ssi…” he begins. “I know it’s none of my business and, I obviously don’t know the whole story but. But I can tell something is causing you. Well. Some amount of grief,” he gestures to Kibum’s disheveled appearance. “You don’t have to talk about it. You… don’t have to say anything to explain yourself. Just know that…” he nods with a hint of encouragement. “You can overcome this. I’m rooting for you. What you’re going through now will end some day.”

“You seem to say that every time we hang out,” Kibum lets out a scoffing laugh, then sobers up after a moment. “I’m grateful, Jonghyun ssi.”

The other shrugs, barely perceptible in the dimness around them. “It’s what friends are for.”

“... can’t say I’ve had a lot of friends like you,” Kibum murmurs to the night.

In the ensuing silence, Jonghyun proves his consideration is genuine. He doesn’t ask for an elaboration. He doesn’t pry for details. It’s calming to be with him, because he never holds Kibum responsible for his words or actions. There is nothing owed at the end of their exchanges, even if they are mostly spent in comfortable silence. Kibum doesn’t think he’s ever truly felt thankful for knowing someone before he met Jonghyun.

He’s about to say as much when they hear an argument break out nearby.

“Sajang nim!” someone pleads. “We’ll call you a taxi. Please don’t drive in this state.”

“... ah! I can go by myself!” they hear Jinki insist in a loud drawl. “I’m not… I’m not some child, you know? I can do this! Look! Look I’m walking just fine on my ow—!” A few people scramble and exclaim before hissing exasperations.

Kibum doesn’t give himself time to think before making his way over to the group.

Upon closer inspection he finds Jinki half-sprawled on the ground, two people holding his torso up by the armpits. He looks too far gone to even stand upright, much less drive himself home. Someone asks Kibum to call a cab, someone else complains about poor signals in the area. A woman lets out a ridiculing scoff before making her way back to the hall, where the party is still going strong. Jonghyun moves forward to help Jinki sit up, softly enquiring after the man’s well-being. A glass of water is offered, a run to the pharmacy is suggested, a hand reaches out to relieve the prone man of his shoes. Their huddle grows confusing and noisy and pointless until Jinki lets out a thunderous yell.

“You fools!” he silences them all, and they stare at him for a long minute of inaction. “Why won’t any of you **listen**?!” He’s not known to ever raise his voice when sober, at least. His presence alone brings everything in the room to a stand-still. Hearing him sound so brash, seeing him act so unruly… it makes everyone a little nervous. Everyone except Kibum, of course.

“OK, that’s it,” he moves in and hooks his arm under Jinki’s, grunting as he pulls the man to his feet. “Let’s get you home.”

“Yah, don’t be a moron, you’ve been drinking too,” someone calls out.

“I’ll be fine,” Kibum dismisses.

“Kibum ssi,” Jonghyun approaches, helping him position Jinki in the passenger seat. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yeah, don’t worry,” he convinces half-heartedly.

“Kibum ssi,” Jonghyun tries again. This time, there is a knowing light in his eyes. He must sense the tension between the two men without being relayed the full story. It isn’t a derogatory look, like how some of their co-workers follow Kibum with their stares before snickering amongst themselves. There is none of the accusation, but there is none of Jonghyun’s usual compassion in that expression either. It is an empty gaze, asking for nothing and offering nothing. He’s giving Kibum a choice. A wordless ultimatum. 

A thousand Kim Kibums are weighed for their worth every day, and a thousand more fall short. Despite finding a friend in Jonghyun, despite availing of his constant motivation, he knows there isn't much hope for the future.

“I’ll see you at work,” Kibum bids in an equally dispassionate tone before ducking into the driver seat. That is the end.

The house is massive. At least, it’s bigger than anything he has ever laid eyes on. It sits snug at the end of a long driveway, surrounded by tall bamboos and zelkovas that form a fence between the property and the rest of the world. But in spite of all its lavish grandeur, there is nothing warm or welcoming about the place. When they stumble out of the car no light guides their footsteps on the porch, no lamps invite them in through the tall windows.

Kibum realises no one else must be home.

Dumping Jinki onto a sofa, he tries the nearest set of switches until the kitchen is illuminated. From what he can make out of the living room, there are photos all over the walls and on the book shelves. He squints at a few of them, searching for any sign of the so-called Mrs. Lee Jinki. Kibum has never met the woman in person but he’s seen newspaper interviews and overheard accounts of the couple being allegedly inseparable. He doesn’t give any credence to that kind of gossip. If the amount of time Jinki spends with him is anything to go by, he mustn’t be too fond of her.

“You…” Jinki garbles, pointing in some vague direction. “You. Come here. Come here and—”

Kibum makes his way over. He crouches before the other, slipping off his shoes and socks. “Where’s your bedroom?” he asks.

Jinki squints at him from under a frown, swaying a little where he sits. “You want that… right now?” he mutters. “OK… let’s do it. Up the stairs! Let's go~!”

By the time he’s maneuvered Jinki out of his suit and into something more comfortable, Kibum feels his own fatigue catch up to him. He hefts the man stomach-first under a roll of blankets and looks for a armchair to rest in.

“Come on, then…” Jinki beckons drunkenly. “What are you waiting for?”

“I’m not going to fuck you,” Kibum loosens his tie and takes a seat several feet away. With any luck, he'll wake up in a few hours and slink out of this place before he can be held responsible for any of this.

“Why? Don’t want the money anymore?” the other asks, breaking into giggles. “Isn’t that all I am to you?”

“Yeah,” Kibum replies with his eyes closed. “Now shut up and let me sleep.”

Jinki titters and mumbles for a few more minutes before his breath dissolves into a slow rhythm. The sound of rain patters against the windows, like tiny knocks asking to be let in. The wind brushes through branches and whistles through vents, an invader looking to steal into the house. As the clock ticks and the minutes turn to hours, the sky is roaring for entry. Kibum stands guard and keeps it out. He pushes against every attacker trying to make its way in. Even as his own footing grows unsure, unsteady, he keeps his walls up. He reinforces his vigilance.

But he knows he’s losing. With heavy eyes and heavy heart, he knows nothing but defeat awaits him in the morning.

* * *

The sun isn’t fully up when Jinki opens his eyes and groans at the windows. They’re streaked with rain, showing him a watery rendition of the trees by the pool. On mornings like this, he pulls Minjung closer by the waist and presses into her warm skin. She whines and complains and combs through his hair before asking him if he wants hot chocolate. He doesn’t answer, only nuzzles more instantly into her stomach, tickling her towards soft laughter.

Today she isn’t here. Today he is alone again. He is alone and—

“Fuck…” a hissed curse follows the sound of something heavy clanging to the floor. It reverberates in his head like a loud gong, making him cover his ears before he twists around to look at the source of his new headache. A heavy coat hanger lies on its side and a haggard-looking Kibum sheepishly sets it upright again. He sneaks a look towards the bed, alarmed to find Jinki awake.

“I…” he begins with a contrite expression, but isn’t allowed to continue.

“Come here,” Jinki murmurs, pulling the covers aside to make space for the other. “I want you to come here.”

The contrition evaporates, replaced by something akin to defiance. Kibum shakes his head. “I have to go,” he refuses.

“I’ll pay you three times your bonus,” Jinki orders, knowing it will end the debate once and for all. He shifts and pats the mattress. “Come here.”

Once again Kibum’s eyes are roving. They’re searching. He sifts through Jinki’s skin and blood. He parts every fold of muscle and every joint of bone, looking for that unknown something. He tries to expose the secret, bring it out into the light. And even if Jinki were to make a guess as to what that something is, even if he knew where it is hidden within him, he won’t let it show. He won’t admit to its existence.

“Only for a minute,” Kibum whispers as if in a promise to himself. But he’s lying. He wants to be here longer than a minute. He wants to be here much longer. He wants all the time he is granted, just so he could peel layer after layer and leave Jinki bare. Defenceless. It’s obvious from the look on his face. He won’t stop his search even if Jinki doesn’t let him win.

Placing his head on a pillow, he settles under the covers and pulls them up, breathing out the story of his silent endeavours.

Kibum has never made Jinki happy. He has only been capable of offering a momentary satisfaction. He does not make Jinki feel better, he makes Jinki feel irresistably formidable. And so, Jinki reasons, he is not a lover. He’s a comforting distraction. Kibum is neither beautiful nor wonderful, nor bright or kind. He is pitiable. He comes from the dregs of society, the very worst parts of it. He affirms to Jinki that everything about this world is not as good and clean as he wants it to be. And that affirmation holds a strange allure... an ecstasy that isn't matched by anything else. Every time Jinki looks at Kibum, he feels revulsion and sympathy in the same moment. They are the seedlings of his attraction. They addict him to the feeling of being in control, of being able to take even the worst of this world, something as vile and dirty as Kibum, and make it his.

But when Jinki yanks him by his clothes, Kibum looks alarmed. He looks afraid, he looks like he will break. No matter what they’ve done before, this is far too close. _This is not part of the bargain_ , his dark gaze accuses. _This is a deceitful trick. This is—_

Jinki silences the accusations with his lips. He feels a stiff shudder run down Kibum’s spine and smooths along the length. He holds the man, completely, without any room to shift or repudiate or breathe. Kibum is caught, by his waist, by his mouth, by his very thoughts. He’s caught and there is no escape. Jinki ensures it.

To his credit, the man fights valiantly and tries to kiss back. But that isn’t really a fight. He plays straight into Jinki’s hands, like every other time. He jumps into the flames he is offered. He must realise he lost this game the moment he set foot in this house. The moment his midnight gaze was caught looking out from among the new recruits last year. And even as Jinki takes pleasure in his triumph, he knows that he has lost in equal measure.

Because Kibum may have been vile and dirty, but he was also hungry: for affection, for kindness, for love. He was starving. And when Jinki unwittingly dangled himself out in the open, he only made it worse. Kibum is now ravenous. For Jinki. For no one but Jinki. All this time, all this while, the game he’d started on a whim was playing him instead. All these months, the rules he’d set down had been breaking themselves. He hadn’t heard them, they’d never made a sound. But they'd snapped in half and changed into something Jinki has no name for.

With a gulp of air, Kibum leans away. “What the fuck—?” he begins a tearful protest, but again. Again. He’s hushed by a soft and gentle kiss. Jinki opens his mouth and presses in closer still. They melt and become fluid. They pool into one mass of interlinked fingers and trembling thighs.

When they separate for a second time, he doesn’t want it to last. He nudges their noses together, runs a hand along Kibum’s side, searching for the chink in his armour before he redoubles his onslaught.

“Please,” the other sobs. “Please. Don’t do this…”

“Isn’t this what you want?” Jinki speaks between their mouths. “Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?”

“No,” Kibum denies in a sniffle, but doesn’t make any move to withdraw. “No, I don’t. You wish that were true… you wish I was like that,” he leans their foreheads together. “But that’s not me. You don’t know me.”

“I know enough,” Jinki nods. “I know enough by now.”

He feels Kibum crumble at that, falling apart against his mouth. Jinki is more accomplished in that moment alone than he has ever been. He may have created life. He may have reached for the stars and touched them. He may have won the favour of the whole world but to feel Kibum’s lips on his skin, to feel his fingers in his hair and hear his breath stutter over Jinki’s name: to have all that makes him the most powerful man on the planet. Because the person before him is not Kibum anymore. His walls may still stand a hundred feet tall and unyielding, his sentries may still keep their guns trained on possible intruders. His gate may be locked shut and his moat may be filled with beasts that could tear Jinki to pieces should he so much as dip a toe into the black depths. But everything else that makes Kibum has fallen to pieces. His indomitable fortress protects nothing. There is no one to save and no one to keep alive. He is completely emptied.

He belongs completely to Jinki.

* * *

난 그때의 우리가  
세상에 우리밖에 없었던  
그때가 그리워

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

다시  
그 시간으로 돌아가고픈  
가벼운 순간의 감정이 아냐

* * *

There is a man named Kibum, who people see and touch and converse with. He is tall, he is reserved, and sometimes… sometimes when he smiles, a dimple grows in his cheek. He prints out meeting minutes, he makes strong coffees, he fixes IT issues in the conference rooms when everyone else is stumped. He eats quiet lunches with a colleague, he goes home on the 7:15 train to Sinchon, he irons his clothes every night before he goes to bed. On weekends, he visits the seafood market and buys ingredients for a recipe his mother recites over the phone. This is the Kibum everyone knows and accepts.

There is also the idea of a man—a Kibum who was concocted to be perfect and loving and unbelievably easy to digest. This Kibum is charming, gallant. He has no secret brusqueness, no crass or violent tendencies. He is the very definition of a gentleman. He is an imaginary unicorn that everyone treasures as a friend and co-worker. He is sincere, he is diligent. He gives his everything to every relationship he ever builds. Like the characters of his name, there is the thought of a Kibum who is an exemplary man, an ideal human being.

But Jinki knows neither of these Kibums are real. They do not exist. And even if they did, he would reject them in a heartbeat. The Kibum he knows is immature, incompetent, pathetic. The Kibum he knows is the Kibum he wants to fall in love with. Because falling in love, to him, is not about finding someone to spend the rest of your life. Falling in love is like any other fall. You falter, you get hurt, you stand back up, and you learn not to fall again. But you carry your scar. You hold on to your injury, hold it dear to you. It reminds you of that moment when the wind was knocked out of your lungs and your heart jumped to your throat. It reminds you that you are not infallible. You can break. You can be destroyed.

There is nothing peaceful or pleasant about Jinki’s idea of love, just as there is nothing to boast about the Kibum he wants to love.

“Come here,” he beckons, and as soon as they are within reach of one another, he eagerly begins searching for ways to give his love. With each undressed inch, Jinki takes note of the small imperfections that make this man. He kisses every place he finds and wants to look for more. “Tell me what you like,” he asks in a tone he hopes is soft, kind. He furnishes his invitation with every bit of fondness he’d always withheld from the other.

This isn’t like a night spent in a hotel. This isn’t a clinical encounter of exchange. In fact, when Jinki composed his text that morning, he was surprised by how effortlessly his fingers typed in the words. _Come home_ , like this is a space they have always shared. Like there is nothing desecrating about doing this in the bed Jinki sleeps in with his wife. To his mind Kibum has an equal right on this mattress, on these pillows. He has an entitlement to be here.

And so the last barrier between them is levelled. There is nowhere left to hide, nothing left to conceal.

When he looks up to join their gazes, Kibum’s eyes are full. He looks so different from his usual self. He’s not drunk, he never drinks before these things. He’s probably on some kind of drug again, but it’s hard to tell. A drug that makes someone more human.

“Hmm?” Jinki persists, trailing his lips around the other’s waistband. “Should I beg again?” he offers. “What do you want me to do?”

Later, when Kibum is weaving his hips in and out of him, Jinki makes the kinds of sounds that he would never allow himself to make. Maybe, his mind taunts, it’s an act. Maybe he’s pretending for Kibum’s sake. But they’re looking at each other. They’re face-to-face. And if someone were to ask him about it, maybe Jinki would say he actually likes it. He actually likes feeling Kibum so deep inside him that it makes him forget time and names and breath for a while. Maybe Jinki’s fall has already begun.

Like always, Kibum stays slow and careful. Like always, he doesn’t rush. Like always, he doesn’t speed up or slam in. He’s steady, gentle. He’s caring. When he leans in, he waits for Jinki’s arms to link around his neck before he turns them over. And when Jinki is rippling above him, he latches onto hips and clutches at thighs. He makes them meet halfway when he thrusts upwards. The clap of their skin isn’t obscene, the string of Jinki’s moans isn’t shameful. The way he feels and the way sweat rolls off him to splatter onto Kibum’s chest is not disgusting. It’s not wrong. None of this is wrong.

Maybe it should be.

He wilts down, presses their foreheads together. Kibum’s sighs feel too hot and his eyes watch from depths that are too watery. Despite being immature and incompetent and pathetic, he is perfect like this. He is beautiful. Even as he squeezes Jinki’s ass and squelches more lube between them, he truly belongs to this moment. He truly belongs to Jinki. When they separate and Jinki bounces with his own strength, when his voice breaks and gets high, mixing with breath. When he looks up at the ceiling as he rests against Kibum’s folded knees—Jinki knows he doesn’t want to stop. When he’s crouching on fours and Kibum tastes him before taking him again, holding his shoulders and pinching his waist. When they speed before slowing to a near halt, teasing out the time they have together until it’s so thin it stretches under the pressure of their fingertips—Jinki begs for them to not stop. When Kibum stands up, pulls the rubber off and strokes himself, when Jinki makes an offering of his tongue. When they’re finally done for the night—Jinki wants more. He wants much more.

This has made a hole within his rib cage. And he knows the hole will always be gaping and empty. It will always hold nothing inside itself unless Kibum deigns to complete it.

At dusk when the clouds finally relent, the last sunlight glimmers through trails of moisture left behind by rain. Diamond light dances on their skins as Jinki traces its prismatic shapes on Kibum’s pale arms. “Will you tell me now?” he asks in a quiet undertone, dragging his lips over cold knuckles and wrist.

The other blinks at him in question.

“The eyebrow,” Jinki runs a thumb along its split curve. “What happened to it?”

Kibum gives him a strange look. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because I do.”

The other lets out a soft laugh. “And if I tell you? How much will you pay me to know?”

Jinki scoffs. “Don’t talk like that. I'm not that heartless—”

“A mistake,” Kibum speaks quietly. “I… fell. Went somewhere I wasn’t supposed to and. I was punished for it.”

Jinki watches him for a moment, feeling his edges soften and round out. “You like going places you aren’t supposed to,” he says, leaning in and pressing his lips to the scar. “Is that why you’re here?”

Kibum turns away from him. “No,” he says to the rest of the room. “I’m here because... because I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

It occurs to him in that moment that Kibum has never asked him for anything. He has never made any ridiculous demands. It was always Jinki who demanded, Jinki who commanded, Jinki who supplied and Jinki who withheld. He’d waited for the man to notice the hidden benefits of their arrangement. He’d waited for Kibum to finally use his bargaining chip and call his check-mate. But that moment never came. Kibum never played that move.

“So stay with me,” he dictates.

Kibum’s gaze is slow to return. “And your kid?” he asks. “Your wife?”

Jinki considers the question. “What do you want me to say?”

“A lot,” Kibum shakes his head. “But they’re only words. They don’t mean anything. I want…” he hesitates. “I want you to give me something.”

“What.”

“... you know what.”

“No,” Jinki smirks, playfully twisting their limbs into a bind. “Spell it out for me like I’m a fucking moron.”

“You **are** a fucking moron.”

He kicks Kibum’s side. A soft nudge, bearing none of his old viciousness. “Tell me,” he insists, immediately cognizant of the strange panic in his voice. “I’ll get you anything you want.”

“I…” the other whispers. There’s a little smile taking over his face. It’s tired, resigned. It’s the smile of man who has given up on his last scrap of hope. Something inside him has lifted out of its usual place and moved, just a bit off-center. “I want something you can’t buy.”

“Bullshit. I told you,” Jinki replies. A small bud of unease sprouts inside him. “Everything can be bought.”

“Not this. Never this.”

“Why not.”

“... you really are a fucking moron,” Kibum says. The misplaced piece within him is now developing systemic fissures that will soon give way under the weight of his heavy sighs. He closes his eyes and a turns his back on the small inch of space between them.

Jinki makes it his mission to hold him in place as long as he can but when his alarm goes the next morning, he is alone again. The house is deathly quiet. His mouth feels dry. His empty stomach complains. He curses the cold sheets, curses the prospect of a dreary day full of meetings and curses his aching back. Maybe if he took the day off and pretended to be sick, he could coax Kibum into coming back here again. It always worked with Minjung, so why wouldn’t it—

_Minjung._

He panics and checks his phone, finding her message exactly as he’d left it last night. Unread. _Be home by three_ , she’d written, followed by several kissing smiley faces. Horror balloons in his gut. The sheets smell like Kibum. The teacups taste like Kibum. The air still holds some of his breath and the walls still hold some of his voice. Jinki immediately jumps out of bed, fumbling around the house so he can put it back in order.

When he shows up at work much later than usual, his PA hands him an envelope. “Sajang nim, this is... it’s from Kim Kibum ssi. He works as an admin staff on the third floor.”

Jinki plucks it from her hands and reads the writing along the slightly warped and creased length. _Resignation_ , it says: or, he guesses that’s what it’s supposed to say. Kibum is obviously terrible at hanja. He would snort but this is not funny. The three characters swim in his sight like their ink is still wet and runny. He presses his thumb down on the first one and distorts the meaning of the word. It does nothing to muffle the growing rush of jeering wasps inside his head.

“He already cleared out his desk this morning. Said he didn’t need a recommendation letter.”

“Fine,” Jinki nods at her and darts into his office.

The lock on his door echoes around him like the wooden slap of a butcher’s blade. He leans against it, vacantly following the length of each wall where photos and framed degrees hang like meaningless pieces of his own body. _I won’t do this anymore,_ the letter simply ends when Jinki rips it open with shaky hands. Kibum's unconquerable fortress mocks him. He is gone. He has taken his delicate hands and his raging eyes and his playful dimple and his gravely murmurs. And he has gone away. He has snatched them from Jinki, without permission, without giving off the slightest hint of betrayal. Kibum is gone. He is gone.

* * *

It takes Kibum four months and an inordinate amount of courage to make his first attempt at normalcy. Despite the terror and anxiety that grows in him whenever he passes by a fancy hotel, he has decided to move on and meet up with someone he could like; someone he could be genuinely interested in. Taemin is young, he makes good conversation, and he’s very attractive. Kibum would even go as far as saying this is exactly the kind of man he likes to be with. And now that he’s as free as he could ever have dreamt to be, he’s daring to be hopeful. He’s daring to give his time and energy of his own accord, without the promise of anything in return.

But only a few minutes into their date, the suspicion that Jinki is trying to secretly vandalise their evening has made things more than awkward.

Kibum takes a deep breath and convinces himself that he’s being stupid, that he should just relax and enjoy himself for once. No one is watching him. No one is coming for him. He places a hand on his forehead and tries again. “So uhh,” he attempts to revive the mood. “You. You’re a professional ballet dancer?”

Taemin takes a few minutes to ease back into it, but he does. Eventually. The soft smile returns to his pillowy mouth. For the rest of the night, he chooses his words with obvious caution. But it’s clear he still wants to be here. He still wants to be with Kibum. His hands move slowly when he spoons his soup or taps his glass. His words swim over breathy sighs and warm impulses. His laughter is swarming with lazy lust. He’s genuinely doing everything in his power to make this end well for both of them. And Kibum gradually loosens up enough to help him along.

Outside, the night is balmy. He takes off his blazer and slings it over his shoulder as they amble down a busy street. He doesn’t want them to part, not yet, but he also doesn’t want to breach the subject only to be shot down. This is only their first date, after all.

“Do you live far from here?” he tries to make more idle conversation.

“No… do you want to come over?” Taemin's offer is so instant and abrupt it nearly catches Kibum off-guard.

He looks at the other with a silent question on his face. _Do you want me to?_

Taemin touches the back of his neck. “I... I have a telescope. If you’re interested in that kind of thing,” he falters and adds. “I mean. This way you can… come see where I live. And maybe. Have some ramyun. Before you leave?”

Kibum grins at the obvious suggestion, excitement quietly bubbling in his stomach. “I do feel like ramyun,” he agrees.

They walk with more purpose until they reach the main road and arrive at a large pedestrian crossing. _Things always change,_ Jonghyun’s words come back to him through the mist of his memories. _You can overcome this. I’m rooting for you._ Kibum wonders if he truly has overcome his troubles, at long last. As a small hand sneaks itself into his palm and links their fingers in a sweaty bind, he turns to drink in Taemin’s bashful face, wondering if his life has finally changed for the better.

The proud grin is wiped off his face when a large car unceremoniously screeches to a halt in front of them. A few people on the sidewalk let out disgruntled sounds and Taemin tries to tug them around the vehicle.

But Kibum can’t follow. He’s been turned to stone.

“Get in,” Jinki barks from the driver’s side.

Kibum balks, stunned into inaction even as his date asks him what’s wrong. He splutters in disbelief. “Wh-what... what the fuck?!” he finally manages to demand. “Are you—are you **following** me?!”

Jinki turns to glare at him. “Get in the car. Now.”

“No!” Kibum yells louder than he intends to, starting to back away. “No! Fuck you!”

“Right now, Kibum!” Jinki yells back just as loud. His eyes are bloodshot. His face is pallid. He’s shaking. He wants to seem threatening, Kibum realises. He wants to exude his usual forcefulness, but he just looks heartbroken. He looks like a man who has lost everything overnight. It's unnatural. It doesn't suit Jinki at all. 

People are clamouring around them now. Beside him, Taemin is clutching his hand harder than he needs to. He says something that washes right out of Kibum’s brain before it can register and make any kind of sense. He hears nothing. He understands nothing. A mass of guilt sits heavy in his stomach, telling him this is his fault. All of this is his fault. If only he hadn't left. If only he hadn't stayed. If only he hadn't been.

He's tugged again, but he doesn't move a muscle. All he knows is that Jinki is waiting for him, silently pleading with him. All he knows is this needs to end the right way.

Waking from a century-long daze, Kibum blinks at his date. “Get home safe, Taemin ssi,” he murmurs, slowly extricating his hand from the hold. “I’ll—I’ll call you,” he assures. “Soon. I’ll call you later tonight.”

The last thing he sees is Taemin’s scowling face, telling him he’s lost his chance. _Nothing has changed_ , he accuses. Nothing has changed and nothing will ever change for Kibum. He shoots the man another apologetic look. Then he’s walking around the car and climbing in before Jinki zooms off, speeding across the lanes and heading for Gyeongin Expressway.

The GPS beeps on the dashboard, informing them they’re going the wrong way. “Where are you taking us?” Kibum clicks the seatbelt over his front as the car veers through every turn they navigate. Another beep notifies them to take the next possible U-turn. Jinki wrenches his phone off the dashboard and angrily throws it in the back. When they catch up with a few cars cruising in front of them, he slams his fist into the steering wheel, honking incessantly until the other drivers clear a path for them. One hangs out of the window and manages to spit a few curses at them before they can dart away.

Kibum gulps. He reaches up and nervously grips the handle above his door. “T-tell me where you’re taking us. Or I’m going to call the police,” he warns. It only makes Jinki accelerate harder, skipping a light and racing along the highway like he’s already on the run from the law. It frightens Kibum to think this is what he’s made of the man. This is what he’s turned the other into. No one should be able to do this to someone else. No one should have so much influence on another human being. But even as the thought develops, he realises this is what Jinki does to him too. They doom each other to a reckless, self-destructive insanity that can only be tempered when they are separated.

“I never said you could leave,” Jinki rages. “How dare you. How dare you leave?!”

Kibum stares at the side of the other’s face. “You don’t own me,” he challenges. “Even if you wish you did.”

Jinki is shaking his head even before he has heard everything. “After what I did for you,” he says from behind grit teeth. “After all that time, this is what you have to say to me? You fucking ingrate. You absolutely worthless—”

“It shouldn’t matter then!” Kibum shouts back. “If I’m so worthless, why do you care if I left?! Why do you have to do any of this?!” he gestures at the road. “All you wanted was a convenient replacement for your wife, and when I couldn’t do that for you—”

“Don’t talk to me like that!” Jinki warns, shaking his head. “Don’t you fucking say that to me. You have no right!” His grip audibly tightens on the steering wheel. “I was willing to bring you into my life and that meant… so little to you!” he spits his accusation. “You didn’t think about us for one **second** before you—!”

“There was no us!” Kibum screeches, a sob fighting to surface from his chest. “There was only you! _Your_ company! _Your_ name! _Your_ pride! _Your_ needs!” he lists furiously. “Everything was yours! And you thought—no! You wanted me to be yours too! You didn’t love me. You wanted to buy me. That’s all it was,” he cries.

“That… that’s not true,” Jinki denies.

“There was no us,” Kibum repeats in despair. “You didn’t leave any place for us.”

In under fifteen minutes they find themselves speeding on Incheon Bridge. They've crossed highways and tunnels, climbed hills and entered toll gates to arrive in a place of no negotiation. Nothing either of them can say will fix this anymore. And even if Jinki realises this, he is not willing to accept it.

“Give me your phone,” he commands, holding a hand out between them. When he isn’t answered, he only yells again. “Give me your fucking phone!”

Kibum slowly complies, only out of fear for his life.

Jinki snatches the device and rolls down his window, clearly intending to fling it into the sea. Before he can, his wrist is stopped.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Kibum screams again and tries to wrest his phone back. The car swerves a little as they struggle. “No—! No! Give it back!”

Jinki tries hard to toss the thing out but Kibum seizes it when it slips out of the other’s hand, immediately shielding it with his body. “No!” he repeats when Jinki tries to retrieve it from him. He fights the other's arm away. “You’re not the only one with a family, asshole!”

The words seem to puncture through Jinki like stakes aimed for his chest. He stops trying to take Kibum's phone away. A sea breeze blasts his face through the window, screaming at him to come to his senses. He doesn’t listen. He doesn’t care. He continues hurtling along as fast as they can go.

Looping around the airport, the car continues until it suddenly careens off the road and towards an empty embankment. Kibum shoots the other a panicked look and sinks as far back into his seat as his body will go. “Stop it,” he begs. “J-Jinki, please. Please, stop this.” The car violently jumps onto a long and unlit dock, continuing to rattle its way towards the end. Outside, the sea is waiting to swallow them. Above, a lighthouse looms ominously. There is nowhere left to go, no road left to drive on. If they don’t stop soon, they will either crash or drown.

It doesn’t look like Jinki will ever stop.

With less than ten metres to go, Kibum’s sense of self-preservation finally kicks in. Letting go of a frightened yell, he yanks on the emergency break. Time doesn't slow or stop. It continues to tick by relentlessly fast as the car enters a deafening skid for a few metres and comes to a complete halt. Before he can react and protect himself, two airbags explode out of the dashboard to cushion them from the sudden deceleration. Kibum smells the sweet mix of burning nitrogen and rubber in the air as he passes out from the enormous pressure crushing his chest.

* * *

There is a man named Jinki, who people admire and gravitate to. A brilliant space engineer, one of the youngest CEOs in the country, a man whose ambitions know no bounds. He is undeniably intelligent, but he is also humble and genial. His warmth is like a gentle sun, boundless in its magnanimity. Everyone who knows this man agrees that he is extremely charitable, giving whatever he can to noble causes. This Jinki makes the world a better place.

There is also the idea of a man—a Jinki with unbelievable wealth, who lives in opulent homes and drives a different foreign car every month. A charlatan and a casanova who is the epitome of everything wrong with a capitalist society. This Jinki is more believable. His vices are real and can fuel passionate debates. It is much easier to imagine a man like that and feel contempt for him, regardless of all the good his supporters claim he does.

Minjung married neither of these Jinkis. A long time ago when she’d only known him for a few months, she decided to accept a man who said he loved her more than he loved anything else: even himself. Who insisted that he needed to be complete and that only she could give him such happiness. That is the Jinki she chose over all the others, because she thinks she loved him too, even that early on. She thinks she was the only one to see who he truly was, behind the façade of money and power.

She still feels the same way. But over the years there have been times when she was sure he’d leave her.

Once, when he dropped all contact for a few weeks and made her think she’d been thrown away, he’d suddenly appeared at her doorstep with a ring in his hands. Once, when stress made it hard for them to conceive and every day ended with Minjung in hopeless tears, he’d promised to stay by her side no matter what. Once, when all her time went to their newborn and he was left alone and detached from her, he still came home to her every night. Once, when…

She settles down in an armchair, watching him sleep on the sofa. Yasmin is fast asleep too, lying cheek-first on his stomach and occasionally sucking her tiny thumb. Minjung smiles. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen either of them look so peaceful. A small part of her worries she never will again.

It’s hard to believe that only a few months ago she’d been running down a hospital corridor in search of her husband. It’s hard to believe what she’d imagined she would find at the end of her search. She couldn’t dwell on what he was doing all the way out in Wolmido so late at night. She couldn’t bring herself to ask who he was with and why he was driving so fast. All Minjung wanted to know for certain was that he hadn’t left her.

When they told her it was only a concussion and a minor wrist fracture, she’d still fallen to her knees, if only out of relief.

Jinki stirs after a while, frowning when he notices her. “Why are you so far?” he croaks.

She smiles and walks over, sitting on the floor beside the sofa and taking his outstretched hand. “You’ve been working so late these days. After you just recovered, too...” she murmurs and kisses his knuckles. “Why don’t you take a few days off, oppa? You’ve earned yourself some time rest.”

“I’ll only rest when we’ve reached Jupiter, now,” he chuckles, pinching the bridge of his nose.

She lifts her eyebrows in a meaningful look.

He blinks at her for a moment before it sinks in. Then his grip tightens around her hand. “Wh- _really_?!” his eyes widen when she nods. “When?!”

“An hour ago on the news,” Minjung informs. “They said the rover was deployed safely and now it’ll start collecting samples. Congratulations, oppa,” she smiles and kisses him again.

There’s a dazed look on his face. “We did it…” he whispers, then breaks into a disbelieving laugh. “We did it—!”

Minjung hushes when she notices Yasmin twitch. “Do you want me to…?” she makes to pick the girl up.

Jinki shakes his head. “No,” his answer is immediate. He places a gentle hand on their baby’s head, caressing the place. “I think I’ll win this bet,” he smiles proudly at the little girl. “I think she’ll want to be an astronaut.”

Minjung pouts in challenge. “We’ll see about that!” she teases, then strokes a thumb between his eyebrows. “Go back to sleep, oppa. You’ll have to answer a lot of calls from now on.” With one last kiss, she gets up and makes to walk away.

He stops her by the wrist. “Minjunggie,” he prompts.

“Hmm?”

“That trip,” he nods. “Let’s go. Let’s leave next week.”

Minjung grins. “OK.”

Of all the Jinkis she could’ve married, she chose him. He is not perfect. He is not impeccable. He makes mistakes and he loses his temper and he changes his mind. He is a little selfish and a little boastful. He is a little complacent and a little conceited. But he is reverential of her. He is kind. He is sweet. He is gentle. He does not ask for more than she can give. He is a good husband. And he is an excellent father. Of all the Jinkis she could’ve loved, only he comes so close to doing all he can for this marriage. Even if it isn’t consummate.

The bathroom exhaust hums above her when she takes a seat on the edge of the tub. She’d come across the name once before, this _fucking idiot,_ as Jinki had crassly labelled it. Minjung thought nothing of it at the time. She still doesn’t. But it is strange how there are no messages or calls to the number despite it being listed on Jinki’s quick access contacts.

Thinking back to her nights spent at the hospital, she remembers him expressly instructing the staff not to allow anyone to see him. He’d seemed angry about it, almost dejected. He’d looked deeply hurt. It was the first time she’d seen him make a face like that. It was the first time she’d wondered how many other things she was yet to learn about him.

It takes her a few minutes to decide to call the number, a few seconds to consider forgetting all this and dropping the call. But before she can, it is answered on the other end.

“He-hello?” she tries.

There is nothing. Only silence responds.

“Hello…?” she repeats. “I—this is. I’m Choi Minjung,” she introduces herself. “His wife.”

Once again, she is only offered a grainy hush. She doesn’t know who this person is. She doesn’t think she’ll ever find out. But something tells her this may be the only time she would ever be able talk to them like this.

“I wanted to say,” she begins. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. I… don’t know if you’re a friend or a colleague or. Or something else, I—” she pauses. “And you don’t have to tell me. You don’t need to say anything. Let me… let me just. Hear you breathe. Just for a while.”

She is afforded a long sigh at that and it somehow makes her relax enough to smile.

“People say there shouldn’t be any secrets in a marriage but. I don’t agree with that kind of thinking, you know?” Minjung gives a soft laugh. “I feel like… some things can’t be easily shared. Some things… they just can’t be understood, no matter how close we become. I have those things, too. So why wouldn’t he, right?” She knows she won’t get a reply, but she still waits. “Maybe that’s what you are. His secret.”

When the other person sniffles, she presses the phone close to her ear.

“Please don’t cry,” Minjung consoles. “I said I’m sorry. I meant it. This was my fault. I… I pushed him away, I think,” she murmurs. “I have a family and friends and a home to go back to. But he has no one else. He… he only has me, I think.” She nods to the bathroom tiles. “I sound like a terrible wife, don’t I?” she chuckles. “So. If he went to you. If he… if he looked for comfort in you while I was gone. Then I am sorry. And I am grateful.”

The line is drowned in thick sobs.

“Hey, hey,” Minjung whispers, caressing the phone as if her sentiments could cross over the call to the other side. “It’s OK. It’s OK, I’m here. I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere,” she nods again. “I won’t let go of him, not again. I have him now, OK? I learnt my lesson. I won’t push him away anymore. I won’t drive him to look for you anymore, I promise. I promise. So don’t cry. Please. Don’t cry.”

She remains there for a while, and when the other person disconnects she is nowhere near learning anything about them. She still doesn’t know who they are. She still can’t guess what they mean to Jinki, or what Jinki means to them. But those sobs are ingrained in her memory. She will remember their desperation. Their regret will ring in her heart as her own. And when many years have passed, Minjung will think back to this afternoon—not as the day the Moksong 7129 finally arrived at its faraway destination, but as the moment she knew for certain that Jinki would never leave her.

* * *

난  
그때의 우리가  
너와 내가 이 세상 전부였던  
그때가 그리울 뿐

* * *

“Say goodbye, Yasmin ah,” Minjung prompts. The little girl rubs a fist over her sleepy eyes, waving with her free hand.

“Thank you,” Kibum gives them a deep bow. “For dinner and for your hospitality.”

“Oh, please don’t be so formal!” she waves a dismissive hand between them. “But I mean it! You should come see us in Seoul too. He won’t say it, but I know he appreciates meetings like this,” she links arms with Jinki and smiles wide.

“Thank you,” Kibum repeats.

“I’ll go see him off,” Jinki mutters.

“Uhh… you don’t,” he’s denied. “You don’t need to.”

Jinki shoots him a blank look. “Let’s go. I’ll be back in a minute, baby,” he kisses Minjung’s cheek.

Their silence is palpable. Kibum peeks at Jinki in the elevator, and when he’s caught he doesn’t look away immediately. He takes hold of Jinki’s face with a disappointed gaze, fills his vision with the solidness of his presence. This face, this man, this terrible terrible man has tormented his days and twisted his nights for years. He has made Kibum question himself and anger himself and even detest himself. He has made Kibum into a man who cannot live with himself any longer.

Yet the way he feels under the press of his stare; the way he returns the look with unconditional trust and the way they stand, only an arm’s length apart... no one came as close to breaking down the walls Kibum closes himself inside. No one else breached the enclosure and refused so adamantly to leave when detected. No one since has made Kibum feel so helpless in his own mind, so powerless in his own body. Only Jinki did this to him. Only Jinki could dismantle him so completely and refuse to put him back into his original shape.

Walking out of the lobby and into the salty air of the night, he hides his hands in his pockets but lets everything else show. “I didn’t want you to find me,” he assures. “I… I’d hoped you’d never find me.”

“Why?” Jinki begins in his usual sneering tone. “Because you hate me so much?”

“I do…” he concurs. “I do hate you. But that part of me is small. That Kibum… he’s still young and immature and,” he gathers a breath before slowly letting it go. “And I hate him just as much as he hates you. That Kibum hates you but… but this Kibum,” he looks down at his feet. _Their_ feet, moving side-by-side. “This Kibum has lived a little longer. Seen some more of the world. This Kibum understands,” he nods, looking up and joining their gazes. “This Kibum knows what that Kibum wanted. Why he wanted it.”

Jinki snorts after a moment. “You still talk like that…”

He smiles. “Some things don’t change,” he looks out to the sea. “Some parts of me still… still feel the way they used to.”

When Kibum turns back to the other, Jinki is watching at him with an indecipherable expression. It’s a molten face, somewhere halfway between afraid and hopeful. “It’s been five years,” he whispers, like he’s reminding both of them. Like he’s telling the entire world. “You have your own life now and I,” his breath stutters a little. “I still…” when he turns away, Kibum tries to accept the gesture as the remainder of that sentence.

“I know,” he assures. “I know that. I didn’t…” he releases a soft laugh. “I didn’t expect anything,” he clarifies. “I may miss it. Sometimes. But I… I don’t want it back.”

“You miss…” Jinki raises his eyebrows in a quiet inquiry. _You miss us_ , he means to say.

Kibum sighs, then smiles again. “Be happy, Jinki,” he wishes. “That’s all I want for you.”

“Do you want me to say I want the same for you?” the other asks, coming to a halt. “Is that what you expect? Because you know there’s only one thing I want for you.”

“... I do,” Kibum stops as well, nodding. “I know.” There is nothing else left to be said. This is the end. This is where they call it quits, refuse the heightened stakes and walk away. Because yes, he does know: there is no Kibum without Jinki, and there isn’t much Jinki without Kibum either. And if that is so, they must accept this loss. Kibum doesn’t mind it. He already lost himself once, so freely and without resistance. And for a few years he didn’t even realise it until meeting Jinki reminded him. Seeing his face made him remember what it was like.

“Tell me the truth,” Jinki takes a step closer. His hands are twitching again, looking like they’ll either start a violent fight or end a long separation. For now, they do neither. “Tell me. Did I really mean nothing to you?”

“Jinki…” Kibum shakes his head.

Their conversation is interrupted by his phone. He remembers the call he’d promised to return and picks up. “Hey, why aren’t you asleep yet?” he turns his back to Jinki and asks.

“Baem!” Taemin begins his complaint. “You said you’d call from your room. What happened?! I’ve been waiting all night! You always do this—”

Kibum chuckles. “Sorry. Came out for a walk. I’ll call back soon.”

Taemin whines. “I miss you…”

“I’ve only been gone a day!”

“Mm… still…”

“OK, I’ll call you in five minutes. Promise.”

“... fine,” Taemin relents. “I’m staying up until you do!”

With a grin, Kibum hangs up and returns his attention to Jinki, who is still glued to his place. The look on his face says he won’t move closer. Not tonight and not ever again. That time is long gone. But what lives between them will live as long as they do. Kibum knows one of them will keep it alive and burning.

“Let me go, Jinki,” he requests. And he has the fierce urge to touch the man’s face, to caress his chin and kiss his forehead in a whispered farewell. But that would only make it harder for both of them. That would only decimate their remaining strength. He keeps his distance. “Let me go.”

Jinki looks ashamed of admitting defeat like this. He says nothing and turns his attention to the ground.

Memorising the last sight of the man who offered him more than he was worth, Kibum starts the long walk back along the beach.

“Yah, Kim Kibum,” the other calls out after he’s gone a few feet.

He turns around. Jinki has never looked so small, he thinks: his hands are empty, his eyes overflow with prayer, his entire being glows like a star about to die. Jinki has never looked so beautiful and vulnerable at the same time.

“When you’re at the end,” he says. “When you can tell it’s the end… come find me,” he nods. “I’ll be yours then.”

The smile comes unbidden to Kibum’s lips.


End file.
